


Little Lion

by Socrates7727



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Dursleys, Bad Snape, Child Abuse, Cousin Incest, Developing Relationship, Dom Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Parselmouth Draco Malfoy, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Protectiveness, Secret Relationship, Sub Draco Malfoy, bad (ish) Dumbledore, bad lucius, very bad Lucius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socrates7727/pseuds/Socrates7727
Summary: Harry and Draco were both parselmouths: one born, the other taught. They fought in parseltongue in front of the entire school on a near-daily basis, and the hisses and snarls were easily heard as threats. Except they weren't threats, or even angry. Hermione begins an in-depth study of the language, and Draco and Harry's true relationship unfolds. Drarry/HPDM!





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Please be kind with any reviews/feedback!

**Little Lion**

Harry and Draco were both Parselmouths but they were the only ones (that they knew of) so they tended to speak in Parseltongue whenever they were together. The hisses and snarls sounded angry and most of the school could tell they were at each other's throats. They hissed at each other across the great hall or classroom, just little angry threats.

Except they weren't threats. Or angry.

Hermione wasn't a Parselmouth, but she was dedicated and interested so she found every book she could find on the language and began to learn it just like any other. It was very, very difficult, but she knew basic words. She could recognize the phrase good morning or good afternoon and was shocked to hear those pleasant greetings between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. Draco sneered at them but she swore she heard the word love when he retorted. Harry snarled back, so surely she must have been wrong, but the two broke apart and Draco left with a huff so she shook it off. She vowed to record the conversation next time with her wand. For research, she told herself, and to improve in the language—not at all so she could spy on Harry.

So she recorded their next spat and rushed off to the library to replay it over and over again so she could decode and decipher every word and every syllable. She could only get bits and pieces at first but she wrote out every possibility, every syllable break combination and tone change she could possibly imagine occuring. And, after over four hours, she came up with something. It didn't make a lot of sense and it was still only a part of the conversation—just the ending of a sentence, one Draco had said because his Parseltongue had more of an English influence than Harry's.

_ Little lion. _

Instinct told her it was a taunt. She wanted to keep going, to keep investigating and decoding every word she possibly could so she might understand why Draco had said little lion, undoubtedly referring to Harry. It was an insult, right? It had to be.

But, it was dark now and the lanterns were slowly extinguishing themselves in the library so she packed up her things and headed towards Gryffindor tower.

Hermione was very careful to never let Harry or Draco catch on to the fact that she was listening or learning. She couldn't speak Parseltongue—not without forcing it and repeating the hisses like a human doing an impression of a snake—but she was getting better at deciphering it. Recording it and playing it back to herself in the library after classes helped immensely and she got used to the slight differences in the way the two spoke. Not just their voices, but their… was it still considered an accent if it was a snake language? Regardless, Harry's was fluid and smooth and so fast that she often had to perform extra charms to slow it down just so she could listen to it—he hadn't even known he was a Parselmouth, it was natural. So it made sense that his speech in the language was fast and easy, like he'd never  _ not  _ spoken it.

Draco, however, had been taught Parseltongue. Hermione was still kind of unclear on the details surrounding it but she knew there were very few speakers in the entire wizarding world. There were no speakers in the Malfoys—other than Draco—and as far as she knew there were none among the Death Eaters. Snape didn't speak it, which left Harry or… Voldemort. Hermione tried not to think about that for very long, usually.

Draco had a habit of calling Harry little lion, Hermione quickly realized, and because his speech was slightly easier to understand she tended to focus on his words rather than Harry's. It was always little lion, never Potter or scarhead. They spoke briefly and quickly, usually, but because Parseltongue as a language had a habit of dropping out all but the most important information, the two were able to cram a lot of information into very few syllables.

Harry: Something something better something?

Hermione was incredibly frustrated by how quickly and fluidly Harry tended to speak. He slurred word endings with word beginnings and mashed entire phrases together so that it became nearly impossible to pick apart. At best, she could sometimes get very slow and very basic words from his parts of the conversation.

Draco: Better something night. Something father something something letter.

Hermione sighed. Even with Draco's slightly less ambiguous speech, it was still like listening to someone just scream. She got the same amount of information, essentially. But, no, she reminded herself, because screaming would at least sound human and have some kind of intonation she could decipher. The hisses, however, might as well have been wind in her ears.

It took her over a month to decipher anything Harry said—even just the smallest word, aside from the hello or good morning that she'd first learned—but when she did she had to stop. _ Little dragon _ . That couldn't be right, could it? Little lion was an insult, a derogatory play on the strength of the Gryffindor mascot. But little dragon? It could have been the same thing… but Hermione's intuition screamed that that wasn't right. Draco's name was latin for dragon, it could have been an insult. But it felt more… intimate. Like a petname almost.

That couldn't be right. Harry called the Slytherin prince Malfoy, and Draco called him Potter or scarhead or some variation thereof. But then again… Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd heard either of them use last names. They didn't even speak in English, now, and hadn't since their second year. She and Ron used Malfoy, and the Slytherin gang said Potter, but it had been over three years since either Parselmouth had actually used either. Not even in private conversations had Harry called the blond Malfoy since their first years at Hogwarts. It was always the Slytherin prince, or the snake, or his full name. Never just Malfoy.

The longer she studied the language, the more time and energy went into it in her unconscious moments. Both in sleep and in daydream, she thought Parseltongue. It didn't make sense how the little names—and Hermione refused to call them petnames, at least not until she was sure—seemed to fit with their dynamic. Even when the two twisted their faces into ugly, angry sneers, it fit. Because the hissing sounded angry—so they sounded angry—but the words never were. Hermione was still trying to wrap her brain around it and not being able to understand over half the words they said didn't help but… still. It was enough for her gut to know.

They weren't angry, that much was clear, and though the hisses sounded furious the words were often nothing more than conversational. She caught phrases like how are you and little snippets like sleep well. As the year progressed, she stopped trying to read their body language as much—which was the mistake the rest of the school made—and listened to the words themselves. She was getting better at deciphering, after the fact of course. The recordings weren't as good as the real thing but she could slow it down and replay it as many times as she needed to be able to match it to a word so it was much more effective.

No one batted an eye when Hermione did homework. She'd learned that very quickly and, between all her classes, Ron and Harry didn't bother keeping track of what work she was doing when. If they saw a book or a piece of parchment, that was enough to lose their interest. As annoying as it was, it was also incredibly convenient. She learned to charm her parchment to show arithmancy notes and was able to study and take notes on Parseltongue in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. As long as she didn't make a sound, Harry would never know.

* * *

Now that he’d survived and made it into his third year at Hogwarts, Harry enjoyed speaking Parseltongue. He'd been scared of it at first because of the way everyone had reacted but, when Draco came back for their third year and hissed at him, Harry was delighted. It became a secret, sort of, and he and Draco spoke solely in it. At first it had been insults—the same ones Draco said in English, usually—but when none of the goons or bystanders understood Draco quickly stopped. If he wanted to insult him, he would do it in English. But, slowly, that stopped too. Until, one day, he'd been sitting in History of Magic and faint little hissing sound had tickled his ear.

_ Potter, can you hear me? _

Harry furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate on the lesson. He didn't want to fall for one of Malfoy's pranks and he wasn't in the mood to deal with any ridicule, but the hissing got louder. Soon, the entire class was looking for the source. He answered just to get Malfoy to shut up.

_ Quiet! I heard you the first time what do you want? _

And then Draco had propositioned him. Not for sex, thank god, but for a little truce—a deal, he called it. They could argue in Parseltongue. None of the rest of the school would know what they were saying so, if they acted angry, the school would think they were fighting. But they wouldn't be. When Harry had finally asked why—because honestly he thought Draco enjoyed the fighting—Draco had sighed.

_ Because my father would kill me if he thought we were on speaking terms, but I'm tired of it. _

He hadn't asked to be Harry's friend. Hadn't offered a truce out of guilt or out of some shared interest. Just exhaustion. So Harry had agreed, and thus began the plan. They made sure to have a public disagreement in Parseltongue at least once a week and soon news spread that the threats and insults were even worse in Parseltongue. Some swore they could understand pieces and heard death threats. Little did they know.

It had taken a long time for Harry to do anything other than just put on a show. He'd seen Draco sitting at the Slytherin table, staring off into the distance as if he was immune to the friends and laughter and food around him. But Harry knew that look well enough and he hissed across the great hall, willing it to float above the noise.

_ Focus on the here and now. _

Draco had startled and frantically scanned the room, meeting Harry's eyes in confusion. But then he'd understood, and he nodded in thanks. It was gradual, like grains of sand falling through an hourglass, but slowly Harry learned more and more about Draco just by observing. He'd watched the blond before, of course, but there was something about Parseltongue… About being able to communicate, even across a crowded great hall, and know for certain that only they would understand the words or hear them, that gave Harry confidence. He pushed Draco, when normally he would have backed off.

They started sending charmed notes to one another. It was like twenty questions because Harry had been bored one night and charmed a paper airplane to find Malfoy and deliver a message in Parseltongue. He hadn't really been expecting anything in response. Realistically, he knew the note would never make it into the Slytherin common room let alone into Draco Malfoy's hands, but nearly ten minutes later a little origami crane landed gracefully on his dresser. His roommates were asleep, so he pulled it into the curtains of his bed and cast a silencing charm. Gently, he tapped it with his wand.

_ What is twenty questions? _

Harry rolled his eyes but had to laugh as the little origami crane stilled back into normal paper. Draco didn't know muggle games, he reminded himself. He set the crane on his pillow and decided to send Draco something else this time—something that would draw less attention if it was seen floating down the empty halls. But what? With one hand, he pulled a loose thread from one of Dudley's old shirts he'd had to bring from home, stashing it under his bed in favor of his robes the second he arrived. The little ugly brown thread pulsed in his hand as he charmed it and then sent it flying. It returned much faster this time, and Harry assumed Draco was getting the hang of it because there was another origami crane floating towards him, with the thread tied around its neck like a collar. It landed, and Harry tapped it.

_ Sounds boring. Who starts? _

Again, Harry had to chuckle because leave it to Draco to insult and agree to the same game in the same message. But he took the little crane and gently removed the string. Again, it pulsed in his palm as he whispered to it.

_ For god's sake Draco send something less conspicuous, will you? If Filch sees little origami birds flying through the halls he'll know something's up. I'll start. What's your favorite color? _

Harry released the string again, holding one of the scarlet curtains aside so it could leave. He waited, and considered his question. Draco would say green, he could already guess, which was why he'd asked that in the first place—as if reassuring himself that it really was Draco. Silver, maybe, because of the hair and the monetary value as opposed to green. But definitely one of the two. When the item appeared, sent from Draco, Harry full on belly laughed.

It was an origami rose, complete with stem and thorns. He tapped it, already amused.

_ I sent a flower this time because Filch won't want to read some sappy love note. My favorite color is blue, yours? _

That managed to surprise Harry more than the flower had. The rose was clever, he had to admit, and definitely something he could imagine Malfoy doing to get around following Harry's instructions, but the blue? Harry had never seen him wear anything blue, not even socks. Nothing he owned even pointed to the fact that there were colors besides green and silver, with the occasional black. Interesting.

_ Yellow. Your turn to ask a question, Malfoy. _

When the string returned, it was just a string and Harry couldn't decide if he was pleased or disappointed. On one hand, he'd won the battle and gotten Malfoy to be less conspicuous. On the other, though, he had been hoping Malfoy would send something amusing next. Like the rose, but better. Regardless, he shook it off and tapped the string with his wand.

_ Why do you call me that? _

That was his question? Harry, confused, quickly sent back a clarification:  _ What, Malfoy? _ And the string returned with a simple  _ yes _ .

_ Because it's your name. _

But even as he sent the string off, Harry knew that wasn't what Draco had meant. He meant why his last name. Why not Draco, why not some other taunting nickname that made fun of him the way scarhead did? And Harry honestly didn't know the answer to that. He wasn't sure why Draco even cared. When he got no response after several minutes, he pulled out another thread and charmed it.

_ Why wouldn't you want to be called Malfoy? _

That string, thankfully, came back after a minute or two and Harry hesitated. Some part of him said it would just be Draco insulting him, pushing him away to counteract whatever kind of frenemy thing was going on. But he tapped it.

_ Because Malfoy is my father. _

Harry was confused. Didn't Draco idolize his father? Didn't he worship the ground Lucius walked on and throw his family name around like money in poker? Before he could respond, though, Draco sent back the original string.

_ If we're going to keep doing this, stop calling me that name. It's Draco. _

Fair enough, Harry thought, and told Draco so, asking for his question. When Draco responded: What do you mean? That was my question. Harry had to laugh again because Draco truly did not understand the game. He cringed at the idea of trying to teach purebloods games like spin the bottle or truth or dare and decided against that battle for now.

_ You have to ask a real question, one that applies to both of us. Like I asked you your favorite color, and then I said mine. That kind of thing. _

So, finally, Harry got back the reply he was looking for. A question.

_ If you could have anything in the world, what would it be? Not material, necessarily. _

Harry didn't even have to think. He sent back his reply instantaneously:  _ My parents, alive, what about you? _ As he waited, he looked over the tiny little origami shapes now littering his bed. He swept them into his dresser drawer, not sure what else to do other than destroy them—which he was against, for some reason. The thread appeared again.

_ Peace _ .

Slowly, that began the process Harry now liked to call unraveling Draco Malfoy. Draco asked real questions, deep questions, and Harry couldn't tell usually if it was because he wanted to know Harry's answer or if he wanted to share his own. The longer they talked, the more Harry realized how eager Draco seemed to be to have someone who listened. He wondered about the other Slytherins, but didn't ask.

They talked like that at night, almost every night, for their entire third year. It wasn't a big deal for them to miss a night here or there, especially if there was a Quidditch match coming up or something, but it became less and less frequent. They made sure to talk, even if it was just a little piece of lint charmed to say good night. Harry wasn't sure why he found it so comforting, but he did. And he told Draco so, surprisingly, which didn't scare the blond but actually made him do it more. Soon, Harry didn't have to be the one to initiate all their conversations. He would get back from classes to find some odd trinket on his pillow—usually a piece of fluff, or useless a bit of a broken quill—and it was exciting. Thrilling, like they shared a secret.

That all changed over the summer, though, because Draco came back to their fourth year different. Harry wasn't sure what the hell had happened but he sent Draco note after note every night for over a week before the Slytherin snapped. When Harry got his candy wrapper back, it nearly screamed at him. Screamed that nothing had happened, that everything was normal, that he was fine, that Harry should just butt out of it. And he said he was fine so many times… Harry knew it wasn't true.

He wasn't sure what made him do it, really, because it was as stupid as stupid got but he pulled out the invisibility cloak. He charmed the wrapper but slowed it, so he could follow. Silently, it led him to the Slytherin common room entrance. It was late, so no one was coming or going, but Harry managed to wait until one of Draco's notes was coming back out to slip inside. It didn't open for his notes, but it opened to let Draco's out.

Inside, he was bathed in silver and green. It was dark and surprisingly lavish but Harry didn't let himself hesitate on it because he had to follow the wrapper. It floated towards a staircase, which he started down. At the bottom, it led him to a bedroom door and, inside the room, it led him to the green bed farthest from the entrance. All the curtains were drawn so, quickly, Harry cast a silencing charm on Draco's bed and slid beneath them. Draco nearly screamed, but Harry had cast the charm so no one woke up.

"What the fuck Harry?!" But just as Harry began to explain himself, he noticed the tears on Draco's cheeks. Why was Draco crying?

"What's wrong?" Draco flinched so violently away from his touch that Harry wanted to cry, but he just let his hand drop back into his lap. Carefully, he pulled his legs to sit cross legged on the mattress and he faced the Slytherin. Draco looked like he couldn't decide if he should be furious or terrified.

"What the hell are you doing here Potter!?" Harry couldn't look away from that face, though. The normally porcelain pale skin was flushed pink and stained with tears. Silver eyes were dull and tired. Draco worried his lower lip between his teeth and Harry could see just from where he sat that there were already patches of bloody flesh where his teeth had worn the lips too thin.

"You weren't okay…" Draco swallowed hard, staring at him like he didn't understand the English. " _ You weren't okay… I was worried. _ " The Parseltongue was what did it. Somehow, the one little thing that they shared managed to bridge the gap and Draco's entire face fell. Harry just watched the Slytherin as he buried his face in his hands and curled in on himself—Harry was too afraid to touch him—but he kept talking.

" _ Hey, Draco, it's okay it's gonna be okay. What's wrong? What happened to you over the summer? _ " At that, Draco recoiled. He sat calmly at the head of his bed and folded his hands in his lap, even though he was still crying. Harry didn't like watching him shut down like that. Now wasn't the time, though, so Harry just focused and tried to prepare himself for whatever bombshell Draco was about to drop on him.

" _ I… nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. I, um… Will you do me a favor? _ " Harry was nodding before the word was even all the way out of Draco's mouth, eager to somehow help. He couldn't really explain why he was so scared, but he was. Something about seeing the blond so uncharacteristically vulnerable made his gut scream that something had gone very, very wrong. But Draco said nothing had happened?

" _ Of course, what can I do? _ " Draco handed him a little jar, giving him a sad look. Wordlessly, the Slytherin turned his back to him and pulled off his pajama shirt. Harry felt his stomach drop.

" _ Draco… _ " His back was pale and skinny—too skinny, given how hard he practiced for the Quidditch team and how lithe he usually was—but other than that… There, tacked on to the paleness and his showing ribs, were countless gashes. A whip, if Harry had to guess.

" _ Draco what the hell happened to you? _ " Draco didn't say a word. Silently, he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his pajama bottoms, wrapping an arm around his legs until he was as close to a ball as a bony human could get. Harry felt fire on his skin, burning into his lungs. He couldn't breathe. The thought of someone doing this—to a kid no less—made his fists clench. At home, with the Dursleys, he could never be angry. He took whatever they gave him and if he so much as opened his mouth it just got worse. But with Draco… For Draco, he could be angry and it simmered under his skin like explosives just waiting for a spark. The only thing that called him back was a small hiccup from the shaking form.

" _ I'm so sorry, Draco. _ " The blond shook his head, hiding his face, and just waited. He was waiting for the salve, Harry realized, because it was doubtful he could reach it himself and he sure as hell didn't seem ready to go to Pomfrey. Harry understood that. Quietly, he unscrewed the lid and dipped two fingers into the salve. It was cool to the touch and tingled, like menthol in a cough drop, but Harry quickly began to spread it onto the wounds. Gradually, Draco stopped shaking.

" _ Draco, please tell me what happened. I understand. More than you think I do. Please just tell me. I won't go to Pomfrey, or Dumbledore, or do anything that might blow back on you I swear to god—to Merlin, even. Please tell me. _ " Harry continued to rub the salve into the pale, damaged skin beneath his hands. It hurt to look at. He had no doubt the salve was contraband—or at least, that Draco wasn't supposed to be using it—but he couldn't bring himself to use it sparingly. He lathered it on, rubbing it into even the deepest wounds until they began to heal.

" _ You promise? _ " He wasn't expecting Draco to actually tell him. Harry had never told anyone about the Dursleys and for good reason—he was scared—but Draco spoke all the same. It was weak and shaky, but he'd said it.

" _ I promise. _ " And then… Draco shattered. Harry didn't know any other way to describe it because that was what happened. One minute, the blond was hunched in on himself and curled tight, like he was coiling and getting ready to strike. The next, he was trembling in Harry's lap.

Draco didn't tell him all of it—far from it, if Harry had to guess—but he said enough. Enough to make Harry's insides churn with hatred and enough to make the dark-haired boy hold him impossibly tight. Every fiber in Harry's being said this was his chance. He couldn't stand up to the Dursleys, couldn't defend himself, but he could protect Draco. Gently, he soothed the Slytherin and ran his hand through those sweaty blond locks as Draco slowly got his breathing back under control. But neither of them moved or broke apart.

" _ Draco, listen to me. _ " The blond pulled back enough to meet his eyes, terror written into his every feature. " _ Listen to me right now and don't ever forget what I'm about to say to you, okay? He will not hurt you, not while you're here. We'll figure out summer and breaks, trust me, but while you're here you're with me. And I will not let him hurt you. _ " Draco whined in protest, trying to argue, but Harry was far from done. He shushed the blond, and just soothingly rubbed his arm.

" _ Draco, I get it. I know you don't believe me but I do get it—I do understand. And I'm not gonna make a promise that I can't keep, that's why we'll talk about breaks later, but I swear to you on my parents' grave that he will not hurt you. Not while I'm here. _ " Draco whimpered, curling into him as he grabbed at Harry's robes, but Harry didn't mind. It was small, childlike. He knew the feeling all too well and he just held the boy closer, rocking them gently from side to side.

" _ Hush, little dragon, it's okay now. I've got you, I'm here, and you're safe right now, with me. From now on, you come to me. If he sends you a letter, if he threatens you, if he shows up with the entire goddamn dark army—you come to me, okay? I'm gonna protect you. _ " And Harry honestly meant every word he said that night. He lived up to it, too, and though they couldn't meet in person like that very often Harry was constantly there for him.

Harry couldn't protect him during breaks. It would be far too suspicious for Draco to even think of staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, and summer was even more out of the question. But Harry was always there to pick up the pieces the second they were reunited. It killed him that he couldn't do more, but it was enough.

For Draco, it was more than he'd ever dared to hope for and the only thing that got him through those holidays was knowing that he would be back with Harry soon. Even if they couldn't openly be friends, just being near the raven-haired boy had a profound effect. Harry was fiercely protective. So much so, that, sometimes, it scared Draco a little bit because he didn't understand that fire in the Gryffindor's eyes or why it suddenly flared for him, of all people. He didn't imagine that Harry actually cared, but he pretended sometimes. Just for little moments.

The best moments of his life, if he was being honest.

It wasn't until the end of their fourth year, though, that Harry finally caved. Draco hadn't asked him to—wasn't expecting him to—but Harry had showed up in his bedroom and whisked him off to the astronomy tower the night before the feast. His green eyes were tired, and scared.

" _ What's wrong? Worried about my father? _ " Harry shook his head, though, so Draco dropped it immediately. He stood in silence beside the Gryffindor and merely waited.

" _ I mean, yes, I'm worried about you. I'm always worried about you, little dragon, and you know that. _ " But there was more, so Draco didn't speak just yet. He'd learned it was best, sometimes, to just wait Harry out rather than push him. As the silence dragged on, though, Draco thought now might not be one of those times.

" _ You're scared, though, of something else. _ " Harry didn't deny it, so Draco moved closer and covered the darker hand with his own. " _ Come on, you can trust me. You know me better than anyone and you, of all people, know how loyal I am. I would never hurt you. Please tell me what's wrong, little lion _ ." Harry stilled. It was the first time Draco had ever dared to use a nickname like that in return and, for a split second, Draco thought he might lash out or hit him. But just as quickly, Harry deflated. Green eyes stared out at the night sky as Harry squeezed his hand, but Draco waited. Harry sighed.

" _ My cousin, and my… uncle. I'll be fifteen this summer. My aunt said not 'til I was grown up, not while I was still a kid, but I'm not a kid anymore. She won't stop them this time. _ " Draco didn't need to see the tears to hear them in Harry's voice. He wasn't totally sure what Harry was talking about but he heard the fear so he pulled him into a tight hug the way the Gryffindor usually did for him, and soothed. Gently, slowly, he rocked them back and forth a bit.

" _ What won't she stop, little lion? _ " Harry's lower lip was trembling and, even as Draco said it, he felt the boy stiffen. Not at the nickname, but at the thought. He didn't expect Harry to tell him because it was clearly difficult just doing this but Harry took a deep breath.

" _ My cousin, Dudley… He said he wanted to get good… being with girls so that he can be popular. My uncle… said I might not be good for nothing after all. _ " Draco felt his stomach churn. Rocks piled onto his chest until he couldn't breathe and he squeezed Harry's hand, not really feeling the contact but hoping it would help anyway. He couldn't do anything. Harry would go home to the pain every summer and there was absolutely nothing Draco could do about it. For the first time, he understood that fire in Harry's eyes whenever he got protective—he understood the need to shield someone else, because you couldn't defend yourself. Quietly, Draco pulled them under the invisibility cloak and wrapped Harry in his arms.

" _ Hush little lion it's going to be okay. I can't stop it, as much as I want to, but I can help you get through it and I can be here after. I'm sorry but that will have to be enough. _ " Harry nodded, burying his face in Draco's chest. The sun was starting to rise. Draco cursed it for even daring to interrupt this—to take their last moments together and rush them. Especially now that it was Harry who was scared and not him.

" _ Okay, here's what you're going to do. Listen to me little lion, do not fight them—even when your entire body screams and your lungs burn with humiliation and fear, do not fight them. If you move too much or struggle, you'll get hurt even more. If you fight back, it becomes a game. They'll sneer and say you want it but ignore them. Make yourself limp and pliant. Relax as much as you can, and think of something else—a happy memory, or a dream. Think about that as hard as you can. Don't stop until it's over, until they leave, and only once you're alone let yourself feel it. Cry, scream, do whatever you have to. I'm going to give you something to help with the pain, use it after but use it sparingly because it's very strong and I can't get you any more. _ " He pressed a small jar into Harry's hands. Immediately, the Gryffindor recognized it and pushed it back, protesting, but Draco let his eyes turn to steel and he made the boy take it.

_ "Draco, no, you need this." _

" _ I'll be fine. _ " That was a lie, and they both knew it, but Draco tried not to think about what he was doing. " _ I'll be okay. I can't use it while I'm home anyway without my father finding out. It'll help with the pain and keep anything from going too wrong. No internal bleeding, no lasting damage. You're gonna be okay, little lion, you can get through this. _ "

Harry whimpered, pocketing the salve and clinging to Draco as if he might disappear any moment. But Draco understood that feeling completely, and mimicked him. He felt so unbelievably wrong doing this—bloody hell, he was practically teaching Harry how to be a good victim—and he wanted to scream or throw something but he couldn't let go of Harry. Minimize the pain, minimize the damage. It killed him, snaking through his veins like poison, but it was all he could do.

Suddenly, Draco was overcome with panic. Something in him just snapped and it urged him to tell Harry everything—to give him every bit of advice, every sliver of a chance that Draco possibly could, even if that information couldn't be fit into the few minutes they had left. He wanted to give Harry a chance at getting out okay. Not good, but okay. But there wasn't time, not now, and Draco kicked himself for not realizing sooner. If anyone was an expert at just enduring, it was Draco Malfoy and he was leaving Harry to fend for himself out of pure stupidity! He deserved to rot in Azkaban. There wasn't time for self-pity, though, he had to pick something and tell Harry whatever would help him most.

" _ Little lion, listen to me. This is very important and I need you to listen very carefully because we don't have that much time." _ Harry whined at the implication of them parting ways.  _ "Harry, I'm serious. This is so important and I need to know you understand." _ Draco used his name purposefully, and it got his attention.

" _ Sorry, I'm listening. _ " Fuck what was he supposed to say? How to get rid of the ache afterwards? How to take a hot shower and burn off their touch so he could sleep at night?

" _ Little lion, I want you to know that you're going to want to give up. I know you're not used to that, so it's going to be that much harder to hold on. You're going to want to slip away. Mentally, maybe, or even physically. You have to come back, though, do you understand me? You have to come back at the end of the summer and you have to come back here, to Hogwarts. _ " Harry nodded, but Draco knew he needed another reason. A reason that wasn't for himself, or for his future, because Draco knew exactly how easy it was to give up on that. To not care about anything but ending the pain.

" _ Because I need you. I need you to come back, Harry, and I need you to be here at the end of summer because I don't know what I'd do without you. You're gonna want to give up but promise me. Promise me you'll be here the second I get back. Promise me. _ " Harry nodded again, but curled into him and hugged.

" _ I promise, little dragon. _ " Draco was surprised how quickly that petname worked its way into his bones. It broke down his cold exterior, it broke down the weathered, veteran facade he'd put up so Harry wouldn't be as scared. Tears poured down his cheeks. Harry wasn't much better, sobbing into his chest, but Draco just held him and Harry held him back. Together, they cried. But then the sun came up and they regretfully returned to their dorm rooms to pack, trying to hide the fact that they'd been crying from their roommates. Draco watched him slip away with a sharp sense of dread.

They boarded the train and Draco fixed his stare out the window before Blaise or Pansy could try to talk to him. Normally, he savored the last few hours of normalcy. Usually, he at least tried to postpone the sense of terror and apprehension that boiled in his stomach and threatened to choke him. But this time he was too distracted. He didn't even notice the fear, really, until he felt the train begin to slow. His mind had been so preoccupied with Harry, with imagining what was in store for the raven-haired boy over the summer holiday, that he'd forgotten to dread his own fate. He said a short goodbye to the other Slytherins, and met his father in the terminal.

It took one smile from Lucius for Draco to snap back into his reality and nearly give himself a panic attack. The smiles were worse, always. They were small and contained, the way one would expect Lucius to be about all emotions—more believable, that way—but only Draco saw the repressed anger behind those thin lips. Lucius was a very unhappy man, used to living life in shades of discontent. It was his natural state, to be upset or otherwise displeased by something, and he usually sought out or created that something if it didn't happen organically. Anger was normal. Disappointment was normal. But joy? Only Draco had ever been trained to sense danger in the man's happiness, but alarms went off like sirens. It was not going to be a good holiday.

He followed wordlessly to where his mother was waiting, all cold looks and empty smiles, and took his father's arm as they apparated. The first touch was always the worst. Draco flinched even though he was the one who'd reached out and Lucius noticed. His father's mouth turned down at the corners in displeasure, but before Draco could apologize or make up an excuse they were standing in front of the Manor. House elves appeared and took his trunk, and his things. He stepped up to follow them inside with his mother, but his father's hand flew out and caught him by the back of his robes. He was yanked to a halt.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Shit. Draco had hoped his father would forget but of course the man never did. The taller held out a pale, slim hand.

"Your wand, Draco." He pulled the wand from his robes and handed it over, feeling his insides twist as he watched his only hope of salvation disappear into his father's pocket. His father always took his wand. He wasn't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, yet, but his father knew him well enough by now to know that he would if he truly snapped. And Draco could be lethal with a wand. Without it, though, he was as good as a muggle and his father sneered at the look of horror on his face.

"Inside, now. Get changed, quickly, and meet me in my study. Your final grades have just arrived and I would like to discuss our next course of action before your mother sees them." Draco swore inside his head but nodded. Quickly, he darted inside and up to his bedroom where the house elves had already unpacked his things. He wanted to cry. A ratty pair of pajama bottoms and a T shirt three sizes too large were set out on his bed, waiting for him, and he pulled them on because he knew the consequences for being slow. The shitty clothes weren't a good sign. Draco hadn't been allowed to dress nice—at least not when company wasn't around—for several years. Getting blood on nice clothes was worse to his father than treason. Therefore, he wore shitty, muggle clothing that didn't matter if it got ruined or stained and he would continue to wear it until his father deemed him good enough. So forever, it seemed.

"Draco!" His father's bellow hit him like a punch to the gut, ironically. He choked and quickly scrambled to hide the last of what the house elves had left blatantly on his bed—two boxes of chocolates, some sweets, and half a loaf of bread he'd stolen from the great hall. Quickly, he stashed the food he'd snuck in under his bed. It wasn't much, but he knew by now that he'd need it if he was going to survive the summer because his father had made it very clear he didn't care if Draco starved. If Draco died, his father would just revive him. And start the process all over again.

"Draco I won't ask again!" He ran for the top of the stairs and nearly fell down them in his rush to get to the study. Inside, his father was waiting patiently at his desk. There was a riding crop on the table, and Draco silently thanked Merlin that it wasn't the whip but he knew that was only because his mother would be expecting him at dinner. The real punishments would come later, after Narcissa forgot about him and went back to her hobbies.

"Draco, I have to say I'm very disappointed in you."

"Sorry, father." Lucius' eyes flared but Draco was already stepping back, shrinking in on himself. Waiting for the pain. Malfoys didn't apologize, but Draco had learned a long time ago it was better to break that rule than to risk being seen as disobedient.

"It seems a muggleborn has managed to best you in nearly every subject. Can you explain why that is?" Those silver eyes, so much like his own, skirted over his body as if looking for some explanation. As if Draco had been in the hospital half the year and missed assignments, or as if Draco had suddenly been branded as an imbecile. Neither were true, which only made Lucius angrier. Draco knew by now not to answer—it was always worse if he did—so he stayed quiet and waited for the yelling. `

Sure enough, it came. Accompanied by the thwack of a riding crop. Over and over again, until Draco couldn't hear anything else and his mind narrowed to that one point.

_ Thwack. _

_ Thwack. _

_ Thwack. _

Draco let the rhythm overtake him and, briefly, just for a tiny fraction of a moment, he let himself forget about the green-eyed Gryffindor. He let himself forget that Harry was suffering too. He forgot about the Dursleys, about what Harry had confessed to him in the astronomy tower, and about what he was sure Harry was enduring right that very moment. For a tiny splice of a second, Draco wallowed in his own pain. He felt it wash over him and overtake his nervous system, the way it did every time, but when it flooded into his chest, it was stopped. It coated his body and clung to his skin, but it didn't touch inside his chest. Like there was a bubble, somehow, protecting his heart and his lungs.

It was far from pleasant and the bubble was somehow almost just as painful but it was a different kind of pain that let the contrast keep Draco sane. It was different, because it wasn't his own. His fear and his shame threatened to drown him but the feeling that took over his lungs and his heart had nothing to do with his father. It was fear, too, but it was fear for his little lion.

* * *

Harry sat silently in the backseat of his uncle's car as they drove. He was crammed in with all his luggage and Hedwig, in her cage, because the front passenger seat held a small box with a present for Dudley.

"You're not a kid anymore, boy." Harry said nothing, but he knew what his uncle was hinting at because he knew that little rumble to the man's voice. "I think it's about time you earned your keep, yeah boy? I think it's time you learned some respect. After all, you're not good for nothing, are you? Not absolutely nothing." Harry stayed quiet but he felt his stomach lurch and his hands clenched into fists. Hedwig hopped and purred anxiously beside him, but he ignored her because he didn't want her to see the anger in his face and think it was her fault.

"When we get home, boy, you're going to behave."

"Yes Uncle Vernon." His uncle hissed, even though that was what Harry was supposed to say.

"Things are going to be different, now. None of that… freaky shit. You live in my house, under my roof, and from now on you're going to have an extra job on top of your usual chores. Dudley is going to use you for practice." Again, Harry said nothing, both because his uncle had hissed at him for speaking before and because that sentence made his blood boil, but Vernon seemed mad this time that Harry hadn't answered.

"You think you're so smart with your fancy boarding school, boy!? Well things here are a little different. You're a freak, boy, and you're lucky that we even put a roof over your head for all the trouble you give us. This is the least you can do."

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry stared out the window, trying not to think about what he was actually saying yes to. It wasn't like he had a choice, but it still made him want to throw up that he was agreeing to it just to keep his uncle happy.

"Don't give me that lip!" Harry slunk back in the leather seat and absentmindedly stroked Hedwig's cage. "You see this box here? This present for my darling Duddy? It's a key, freak, for the lock on your door so don't think for a second that you can just shut us out the way you did last summer. You owe us everything. If you want to eat, you'll behave yourself. And if you hurt our precious Duddykinz?" His uncle looked back, meeting his eyes with large, angry saucers and red cheeks. "I'll make you regret ever showing up on our doorstep alive, understood?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon."

Harry was able to stay under the radar, for the most part, for his first few days back with the Dursleys. Dudley hadn't quite finished school yet and Vernon still went to work, which left him with his Aunt Petunia for most of the day. She made him do chores, and she yelled. But he could tell she felt bad about not intervening anymore because she gave him an extra helping at lunch and snapped that she would mend his clothes if Harry couldn't do it properly himself.

That was the last day of Dudley's schooling, though, and it was that night that Vernon unlocked his door and let Dudley into his room. His uncle stayed, as if daring Harry to do something wrong. Harry just stayed in his bed, though, and watched his cousin approach uncertainly, Vernon coaxing him every few seconds. But Dudley tried the man's patience for too long. With a groan of annoyance, Vernon stepped up and ripped off the covers and tore Harry's clothes from his body. Dudley stared at him.

"What do I do with him, daddy?" Vernon growled something about just stick it in and quickly left, but Harry knew he hadn't gone far. Just because he didn't want to watch didn't mean he trusted Harry not to hurt Dudley, so he stayed nearby and ready to rush in just in case. Dudley stared at him, gawking like he'd never seen someone naked before.

He was eager, though, Harry could see that and he tried not to let it bother him. Lazily, Harry laid back down on his bed and just waited, as if he was bored, but secretly he tried to quell the panic rising in his chest. Some part of him had never really believed they would do it. They were horrible, yes, and both liked to hit him but they were still family. This was incest, at the very least. Vernon didn't seem to care, though, so Dudley didn't seem to care either. Harry just waited.

After a minute, Dudley approached and pushed him onto his stomach on the bed. Harry let him, trying to picture Draco and everything he'd said that night in the Astronomy Tower.  _ Don't fight, if you fight it becomes a game.  _ So Harry didn't fight, he just laid there and let Dudley poke at his asshole. Dudley straddled him and tried to push his cock in, but it was too dry and Harry was too tight so Dudley ended up just stopping.

"It won't go in." Harry didn't consider it his duty to help the boy. Dudley yelled for his father, and Vernon asked through the door what had happened. When Dudley told him, he growled and threw in a bottle of lube, muttering about forgetting and how stupid it was that Harry wasn't just a girl because that would be so much more convenient.

"You're a freak." His cousin sounded less confident, less sure, but the insult solidified the fact that they were not friends. Now coated in lube, Dudley lined himself up again. Harry could guess that it would hurt and he tried to relax the way Draco had told him to, even going so far as to hug a pillow to his chest and bury his face in it, but nothing could have prepared him for what it actually felt like. Dudley thrust into him all at once and Harry screamed. It burned and seared his insides and his asshole and he felt like his muscles themselves were ripping in half, over and over again with every movement.

For such a small dick, it felt ginormous. And, even worse, Dudley was inexperienced and had no concern for what Harry felt because the sudden rush it apparently gave him made him nearly frantic for more. He thrust quickly and unevenly into Harry, ignoring the sobs that shook the smaller boy's frame. Dudley stuttered and moaned, unattractively, as he sped up. It must have been only a few minutes before Dudley came, but it felt like years to Harry. When it happened, it sent a whole new burning sensation through him and he squirmed on the bed as if he could escape it by thrashing or screaming enough. Dudley pulled out of him, and exclaimed in disgust.

"Daddy! The freak bled on me!" Sure enough, his cousin's prick was covered in blood, which now dripped from Harry's hole down his legs as well. Vernon bellowed, but ultimately didn't come in. Dudley left, disgusted, and Harry assumed he was going to clean himself up but somehow that didn't help. His entire body was shaking. It hurt so fucking bad, so much worse than he'd imagined, and it didn't stop when Dudley did.

_ I'm going to give you something to help the pain. _ Relieved, he remembered the small jar still tucked away in his trunk and rolled to get it, yelping when the movement made the pain worse. He dug around in the trunk until he found it. With one hand, he unscrewed the lid and lightly coated his pointer finger in the salve before tucking it back into its hiding place. Tentatively, he probed the finger at his ass.

Harry screamed, a real scream, because he was not expecting such a soft touch to hurt so badly but no one came to investigate. He was determined to follow Draco's instructions, though, so he grabbed his pillow. With his face firmly buried, he again trailed his finger lower and he screamed at even the slightest touch but he trusted Draco—he knew Draco was telling the truth—so he steeled himself and shoved his finger inside him. The pain made his vision go black, but he held it there. And, gradually, it began to ease.

From the original sharp, burning pain that seared his insides, it dulled into an ache. Like a headache in his gut, he thought, and somehow that made it more bearable because Harry had dealt with headaches his entire life. He could handle a headache, even if it wasn't in his head. Carefully, he moved his finger a bit inside himself and hissed when the burning returned, but it disappeared faster this time. He continued, moving every time he could brace himself enough to bear it. After a while, there was no more burning. The ache persisted but Harry felt like he could handle that, at least, so he withdrew his finger and smeared the remaining salve over his asshole itself. As he did, he felt the huge tear Dudley had ripped in the tight ring of muscles. He continued to scream, but Draco's voice in his head coaxed him to keep going and he massaged the salve into the wound until it closed, and then until it had mostly healed.

With that done, Harry let his body go limp again. He sank into the mattress and sobbed into the pillow because his entire body felt wrong and violated and used but there was nothing he could do about it. His finger was still coated in blood and cum, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn't ready to get up, his legs were still shaking too much and his entire being felt unsteady, so he pretended it wasn't there and just made sure not to touch the bedding.

Harry needed a distraction, he decided. He couldn't get up and he wasn't going to risk going downstairs but he needed something else to think about. The way he used to fiddle with things to avoid thinking about the headaches. This was the same thing, except the ache wasn't in his head so he could actually let himself think rather than having to find something physical to do.

Draco was in pain, too, he was sure of it and it didn't help to think about. Harry had seen the lashings Lucius had given the blond after last summer and he wasn't eager to see the damage this time, but he knew it would be there. He didn't like to think about why Draco could give him advice like he had… But the implication was there. In lieu of focusing on the ache slowly making its way out into his hips, Harry tried to figure out who it could be that was hurting Draco the way Dudley had just hurt him. He didn't have any siblings or cousins, as far as Harry knew, and the house elves wouldn't have dared. Briefly, Harry considered Narcissa or Snape but one was too apathetic to enjoy that kind of torture and the other wasn't around Draco enough to be the perpetrator. Besides, Draco had said ‘him’ when he’d first talked about it. Which left Lucius.

For some reason that Harry couldn't quite name with his half-awake brain, the fact that it was Lucius bothered him more than any other possible suspect. Maybe it was because Draco had always seemed so close with father, so ready to defend him. Or maybe because Harry had been jealous of their closeness for years. If only he'd known… But a larger part of him said it bothered him so much because he knew it would change the way Draco saw himself. The Slytherin was his father's spitting image, and Harry guessed that that had to hurt. If not because Draco saw his father whenever he caught half a glimpse of his reflection, then because Draco would undoubtedly look for similarities and see himself becoming the man who hurt him.

It made sense, in some sad way, that Draco had always been the one afraid of physical contact. Harry had thought, at first, that it was just because abuse had that kind of effect on a person but Draco had allowed it, even welcomed it, and then seemingly just flipped a switch at the oddest moments. He could imagine, now, that it was because Draco was afraid of hurting him. Afraid that that closeness would somehow unlock the part of him that was like his father and make him hurt Harry. He would talk to the blond about that when they got back, Harry decided.

When they got back.

Harry wasn't sure when it had changed from just him, to them. He had assumed for a long time that the other kids at Hogwarts considered Hogwarts the strange place, and welcomed going back to their families at the end of the school year. For him, though, it had always been the other way around. Hogwarts was his safe place, his home, and even with all the drama and political shit that went down it was better than the Dursleys by far. At Hogwarts, he was loved. And, at some point over the last year, Harry had begun to lump Draco in with that idea as well. At Hogwarts, they were loved. Because at Hogwarts they had each other.

He hadn't realized how much he would miss the blond, even just seeing him in the hallways or across the great hall during dinner. It was strange, but, as much as he missed their nightly talks, he missed just casually seeing him more. Because their talks were… intimate. They were close, but Harry knew he couldn't realistically think that would last. But just seeing Draco around school? There was a sense of purpose, of protection and security, in knowing there was someone nearby who understood. Even if they didn't talk about it, even if they pretended to hate each other. At least he was there.

But here, with the Dursleys, Harry was completely alone. The dull ache in his gut reminded him he had Dudley, but that whole mess was very different. Because Draco cared. Draco had given him the salve instead of keeping it for himself, Draco had taught him as best he could to survive the pain, Draco… understood. That was what it came down to, ultimately. Draco was the only person in the entire world that Harry had willingly told about the abuse, and Draco was the only person who completely understood. In every sense of the term, Draco understood what Harry was going through.

Halfheartedly, he stroked Hedwig through her cage and considered sending a letter to Draco in Parseltongue, just to tell him everything would be okay. He could thank him for the advice and the salve, and not worry about anyone else being able to understand it. But, he reminded himself, someone had taught Draco Parseltongue. That person might very well work for, or be, Lucius Malfoy. And Lucius would kill Draco if he even caught sight of the famous Harry Potter's owl heading towards Malfoy Manor, so Harry turned his back on the bird to try and sleep.

Mentally, Harry crossed off a day on his calendar. Five weeks and six days left until he could go back to Hogwarts. Until he could go back to Draco.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Shorter chapter, but still no flames please!

When Harry boarded the train for Hogwarts, he was considerably changed. Hermione said puberty, Ron said he’d gotten with a girl or something, but neither were true and he didn’t bother correcting them. His face was more tired now, and less expressive. The salve was nearly gone, aside from the bit Harry had set aside to treat Draco when they got back, and he was so skinny now that the thought of eating at the feast like normal hurt his stomach. He didn’t look all that different, really, and especially not beneath his robes, but he felt different. Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as they went through a dark patch of trees and almost dropped the sandwich Mrs. Weasley had made him. He looked like Draco.

The hair was different, and the eyes were a different color but other than that… It was the same, gaunt features and the same, hollow expression that he’d seen on the blond’s face for the first four years of their education. Was that really all it took? He’d always thought at least parts of those things were natural for Draco, genetic if nothing else, but Harry looked just like him now that he knew what to look for. Was his ignorance really the only thing that had kept him from finding out about Draco sooner? Kept him from recognizing the signs?

Draco, Harry knew by now, had a habit of swearing or muttering angrily in Parseltongue whenever something happened because he didn’t like other people hearing what he was upset about. Even if he just stubbed his toe, Harry knew to expect the hissing language. He wasn’t shocked when he heard it carry down the aisle of the train car, either, because Parseltongue had quite the ability to cling to the air and carry. 

It was just a string of curses, but Harry could usually tell when Draco’s swearing was in anger or when it was in pain. He made an excuse to Ron and Hermione, who barely listened because they were so involved in an argument, and he slipped away to the back of the car. Harry was good at transfiguration because McGonagall taught it, who he loved. As he hurried towards the Slytherin car, he quickly transfigured the little jar he’d slipped out of his sleeve into something less conspicuous. An empty inkpot would do. 

Arriving at the Slytherin car, all eyes turned to him like magnifying glasses and he approached Draco in a huff. For a moment, the blond looked surprised. Then, he quickly realized Harry was just acting—that that was what they did—and twisted his face into a sneer. But Harry was already clenching his fist because he noticed the way Draco was favoring his left arm and how he refused to lean back in the chair. Lucius could burn in hell. Harry threw him the inkpot, which he caught. 

“ _ Tap it three times and use it, little dragon. I’ll worry about getting more. _ ” Draco’s face contorted in confusion for a split second before he realized what it was and he tried to throw it back but Harry refused. 

“ _ Harry, I’m fine. _ ” But Harry glared, only half faking, and gave a pointed look to the inkpot.

“ _ No, I’m fine, Draco. You’re in pain. Use it as soon as you get the chance and I’ll meet you tonight. We can talk then. _ ” Draco sealed their conversation with an angry hiss, but Harry was already walking away. It would be too suspicious for him to help. Their conversation had already attracted a lot of attention and was spreading up and down the cars like wildfire but Harry just trodded back to Ron and Hermione. As he left, he heard a Slytherin ask what Harry had said. He heard Draco, in English, sneer something about a house elf dropping his things and Harry being a git.

“Oi, what was that about?” He shook Ron off as he took his seat again, looking out the window. Hermione, surprisingly, didn’t ask a single question. When they saw that he was in no way in a better mood than before, they went back to arguing without him and let him stare at the passing landscape in peace. Thank god, Harry didn’t think he could focus on anything else right now. 

His mind was on Draco. He’d imagined the blond thousands of times over the long summer break and he’d pictured what Lucius was likely doing to him. He knew the boy would come back injured, if not broken and scarred. But, somehow, actually seeing him favor the hidden wounds was a hundred times worse and, even if he could speak in Parseltongue and help in little ways, that old instinct flared. The one he’d shoved down and forgotten over the holiday, with his cousin and his uncle. Now, though, every muscle in his body screamed to  _ protect. _

Draco knew it was stupid not to use the salve. Harry had practically ordered him to and that familiar fire was back in those green eyes, daring Draco to disobey. But he didn’t want to use it. He knew Harry wasn’t unscathed and he wanted to take care of the Gryffindor, the one who wasn’t accustomed to this already, before he even glanced at himself. 

At some point during the rest of the train ride, though, those burning green eyes urged him up. He dismissed himself to the bathroom, the inkpot in his pocket, and tapped it the way Harry had said to, turning it into the little jar he knew so well. Hesitantly, Draco dipped a finger in. 

Usually, Draco was more than careful about using the salve because if his father suddenly showed up and found him uninjured, there would be hell to pay. He didn’t want to use very much of it, and he couldn’t reach his back anyways. So, instead, he settled for pushing a bit of the goop into his arm where his father had broken it less than a week ago. It cracked and scraped, but it slowly healed. Draco pocketed the jar again and didn’t bother to transfigure it because he was rubbish with transfigurations and would probably destroy it in the process. Returning to Blaise and Pansy, he continued to sulk. 

They were used to him being morose and despondent after holidays or breaks, by now, so no one talked to him or tried to pry. He sat quietly in his usual seat and just stared out the window. Harry had looked alright. For some reason that bothered him more than if the boy had been in tears and Draco didn’t like it. It seemed… wrong. He didn’t believe for a second that the Gryffindor was in any way fine but the fact that he was pretending to be aggravated him. Though, Draco supposed, that was exactly what he was doing so he didn’t have room to talk. 

Still, that night could not come soon enough. It bothered Draco a lot that he couldn’t just talk to Harry, even through notes, without the entire school knowing who had sent it. They would assume it was threats or insults, of course, but he could only pass that off so many times before someone would joke they were passing love notes. And neither of them wanted that thought to even enter anyone’s mind. 

So Draco sat through the train, through the carriage ride, and through dinner, not bothering to put an expression on his face and just trying to eat as much as possible. It felt strange, after eating so little. He knew he had to pace himself now and get used to the food again but it was all so tempting. He’d been hungry for weeks, though, so he made himself stop and only picked at the blandest food available. No dessert. 

Draco didn’t hurry to bed, though he could have without anyone batting an eye. Harry wouldn’t be able to shake the rest of the golden trio until it was actually time for bed because Ron slept in the bed next to Harry, even as fifth years, and the weasel would notice if he disappeared. So Draco sat, lost in thought, on one of the plush green couches. Pansy and Blaise were flirting beside him and, if it had been even a day later, he would have teased or chastised them for it but he was too tired. Honestly, he was just so tired…

He briefly considered going to bed, or at least taking a nap before he went to meet Harry, but he shook his head to himself. The nightmares would be horrible if he didn’t see the boy first. Plus, he knew the pain was always worse at night so he would likely need the salve to be applied if he was going to sleep at all. And, he was worried. 

He hadn’t been expecting Harry to seem so… normal. Draco tried to remember what he’d been like the first time his father had come into his bedroom at night, but he couldn’t remember that far back. Had he been devastated? He’d thought Harry would be, both because it was new to him and because it was from his family, but had Draco even been? 

Now that he thought about it, he remembered just kind of shutting down. He remembered going through the motions, living his life, and not really being a part of his body because he could never tell when the hits would come or when his father would unlock his bedroom door. Hogwarts had woken him for the first time in years, when he was eleven. 

“We’re heading to bed. You comin’ Drake?” Draco nodded and followed the other fifth years to their dorm but he was thinking now. Maybe Harry was that same way? Maybe he was burying it deep down and hiding the broken the way Draco had?

“Night, Drake.” He hadn’t even realized that it was dark out, now, or that the rest of his roommates were already in bed. Draco was still just standing there, looking out the window. Blaise had managed to startle him, but they were used to not asking questions for the first few days after a break so Draco just shook it off and slid into his bed. He drew the curtains, and waited. 

Draco did not have an invisibility cloak, and that was the only reason he made himself sit patiently on his bed and wait for Harry to appear. If he could have, he would have apparated in the boy’s room the second dinner had ended. But, sadly, Draco was neither that gifted nor reckless enough to steal an invisibility potion from Snape so he just waited, pouting slightly. 

“ _ Hey.” _ Draco didn’t scream, because he’d been waiting, but he did jump as Harry appeared at the foot of his bed and joined him beneath the thick green curtains. Together, they cast a silencing charm. 

“ _ Hey. _ ” Harry was watching him, he could feel it, looking for any hint that he hadn’t done as he’d been told, but Draco just caved. It was easier than arguing. He handed the little jar over to Harry and, before he could be mad, cut him off.

“ _ I did use it, for my arm. I couldn’t reach though. _ ” Harry took that as explanation enough, and began gently applying the salve to Draco’s torn flesh. Ironic, considering almost a year ago they’d done the exact same thing. 

“ _ Harry, are you okay? _ ” He didn’t use the petname, intentionally, because he needed the raven-haired boy to know how serious he was being. Harry didn’t tense, though, or stop applying the salve. 

“ _ I’m fine, little dragon. You’re the one I’m worried about. _ ” The salve disappeared quickly as Draco felt his back begin to scab over and then heal. He stared at his hands. He knew he wanted to turn around, to embrace the Gryffindor and reassure himself that they were both okay, but he couldn’t look up. Something in him was scared to. 

“ _ Draco? _ ” He was terrified, he realized, to look up and see those emerald eyes look broken. He was terrified that Harry was scarred somehow in a way that could never be healed because Draco hadn’t protected him. Gently, though, Harry reached out and turned him. Thankfully, he didn’t make Draco look up, but he did make him turn around. 

“ _ Draco, are you okay? Did something else happen over the break? _ ” Draco shook his head but couldn’t make himself meet Harry’s eyes. 

“ _ No, I’m just afraid. _ ” He shocked himself by actually admitting that out loud, but then again this was Harry he was with. It was coming back to them both rather quickly. The truth-telling, the confessions, the intimate kind of trust that let them both loosen their tongues a bit. 

“ _ Of me? _ ” The way Harry’s voice broke, even over the hissed syllables, made Draco want to scream. 

“ _ No! _ ” Harry recoiled. “ _ No, hey, listen to me. No, I’m not scared of you and I never will be, you know that. That isn’t what I meant. I just… I remember the first time I faced that and I remember pretending I was fine but I remember what it did to me, really did to me, and I’m just so scared that you’re not okay because I should have done something, I should have protected— _ ” Harry cut him off with a finger over his lips. Cautiously, the dark-haired boy reached out and pulled Draco into his lap so he could stroke his hair and press tender kisses to his temple and forehead.

“ _ Hey, listen to me, little dragon. I’m fine, okay? I really am perfectly fine. _ ” Draco snorted, but Harry wasn’t done.  _ “No, stop that. I’m not lying to you. Yeah, it was hell and I’ll never be the same person I was before that happened but look at me, Draco. _ ” Carefully, Harry lifted his chin so that Draco had to meet his eyes. 

“ _ I swear to you, I’m fine. I’m not good, but I would be a lot worse if you hadn’t told me how to get through it. You did protect me. You did, okay? Because of you, I’m honestly gonna be okay. Stop worrying about me, though, are you doing okay, little dragon? _ ” Words could not describe how relieved Draco was in that moment. That he hadn’t failed, that he hadn’t let Harry be destroyed just because he was too cowardly to do anything. Those emerald eyes were sad, but they weren’t broken. Tired, maybe, and older but not broken. He couldn’t help the tears that slipped out as he looked up at Harry—wait, up at Harry?

“ _ Did you grow? _ ” Harry laughed and wrapped Draco tighter in his arms.

“ _ Is that really your priority right now? _ ” But Harry had grown, it was obvious now, and Draco was extremely amused by that for some reason. Of all things, now Harry was taller than him?

“ _ I can’t call you little anymore. _ ” But Draco was laughing now, too, and it felt so good because he hadn’t laughed in over six weeks and Harry was laughing with him and it just felt right. Like, finally, all the pieces fit together again. He felt Harry tangle a hand in his blond locks, the way the Gryffindor seemed obsessed with doing, and he let himself bury his face in Harry’s robes. 

They were both laughing and he was sure they would look insane to anyone else but Draco was just so  _ relieved _ . This was Harry—his Harry—and this was how they were supposed to work. Even if everything else in his life imploded, even if his father was twice as angry and his mother twice as apathetic, this one piece was completely, unequivocally, and irrevocably right. 

“ _ Just lion, then, _ ” Harry hissed out through snorts of laughter. “ _ But you’re definitely still quite little, aren’t you? My little teeny-tiny dragon. _ ” Harry might as well have been calling him shortstuff for the reaction it got. They both guffawed with laughter, shaking each other as they gasped for breath and struggled to contain themselves. By the time it began to fade, they were both crying. For a good reason, this time, though. 

“ _ I love you, lion. _ ” Harry suddenly stopped, and Draco felt his blood run cold when he realized what he’d said. He bolted upright out of Harry’s grasp and scrambled for the door, but Harry caught his wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! This was how he was going to die!

“ _ Draco, breathe! _ ” Some innate part of him must have still been wired to obey Harry’s voice because his lungs sucked in oxygen without his consent. Slowly, he stopped struggling. Harry was still holding his wrist, though, Draco realized and that thought sent needles down his spine. He’d fucked it up—badly. 

“ _ Draco, please, calm down! Look at me. _ ” Draco obeyed, because he was scared now and he wanted to minimize Harry’s anger. If he was lucky, he could get away without anything too bad. The bed had a silencing charm but if he made it out of the curtains he could scream and wake his roommates. Harry was still holding his wrist, though, so clearly he knew that and would do anything to keep Draco from getting help. Fuck, he was so screwed. 

“ _ Draco, hey, please look at me? I’m not gonna hurt you, you know that right? _ ” He had known that, but all bets were off now. Draco had said the forbidden three words without even thinking and now he knew Harry was furious with him. He knew Harry would punish him. But he deserved it, he knew that, and as much as his chest ached and urged him to run for it he stopped. If he was stupid enough to say that, he could take the punishment. The idea of it coming from Harry was like his worst nightmare on repeat but he deserved it, so he stilled on the bed and stared at his hands, merely waiting. Harry let go of his wrist. 

“ _ Little dragon, you’re not scared of me, are you? _ ” Fuck. His father loved to do things like this—traps, where there was no right answer. If he said yes, Harry would be upset with him for reacting like this. If he said no, though, Harry would be mad that he’d lied. There was nothing he could say that would make the situation any better so he just sat there and braced for a hit, a punishment for not answering. Nothing came, though. 

“ _ Little dragon… _ ” Harry didn’t touch him or lift his face like before, in fact he seemed scared to, but Draco refused to let the crack in Harry’s voice break down his walls. “ _ Little dragon, I’m not angry. Even if I was, I hope you know I would never, ever hurt you. I understand that instinct but, please, please try to remember who you’re talking to. I will never hurt you. _ ” The words were convincing but Draco refused to let them break him. He stiffened, physically trying to build his walls higher, and didn’t look up into Harry’s eyes for fear that it might be seen as a challenge. 

But he did know Harry. He’d never known him to lash out in anger, at least not physically. That was what put that fear in his gut, though, because that was what everyone else thought about his father. Oh, Lucius would never hurt his son—he loved him too much. Lucius was cold and calculating and devious so, surely, if he was going to lash out at his son at all it would be anything but physical. Withhold money, maybe, or yell. No one ever thought Lucius would hurt him because that wasn’t the kind of person Lucius seemed like. Harry would never hurt Draco, either, right? Because Harry wasn’t the type to lash out with fists. 

“ _ I love you, little dragon, I’m so sorry if I hurt you somehow or scared you but I’m not upset. I love you too, hear that? I love you, Draco, so much. I love you. _ ” At that, Draco stopped breathing. He couldn’t remember anyone ever saying those words to him. His father and his mother said it  _ about  _ him, sometimes, and assured everyone, even Dumbledore, that they loved their son. They described him as special, and as loved. But no one had ever actually said it  _ to  _ Draco before. 

“ _ You… what? _ ” Harry seemed to take a deep breath in relief when he spoke, even if his voice shook. The dark-haired boy relaxed a bit on the bed, though he didn’t reach out or touch Draco, and sighed. 

“ _ I love you too, little dragon. _ ” Draco was short circuiting. He had never, in all his years of living, thought someone would say those words to him and he certainly never thought they would be genuine. His future wife, maybe, would say it if they were in public. But never mean it. Harry was still watching him, though, with tears now slipping occasionally down his cheeks that weren’t from laughing. He’d done that, Draco realized. He’d made the Gryffindor cry just because he’d panicked. 

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ” Harry shook his head, but didn’t move otherwise. He let Draco come to him. Even if Draco was nervous, and trembling, he crawled back across the mattress and slowly wiggled back into Harry’s lap the way he’d been before this entire disaster. 

“ _ I’m sorry, lion. _ ” Harry took the petname as permission, apparently, because Draco immediately felt a gentle touch to his arm and then in his hair. It was slow, and hesitant, though in a way Harry never normally was with him. Draco had fucked up. 

“ _ I’m sorry I don’t know what happened, I just… panicked. I’m sorry. _ ” Gently, he felt Harry kiss his forehead. The raven-haired boy stayed quiet for a long time, so long that Draco began to think he really was angry, but just when Draco was about to run again Harry spoke.

“ _ Are you okay? _ ” No petname, Draco noticed, and no reassurance that it was okay or that he’d done nothing wrong. Fuck, he had completely destroyed whatever made them  _ them _ and now all that was left was this empty, shell-like remnant of what they used to be. Harry didn’t even know what to do with him. 

“ _ Yeah, I’m okay and I’m sorry _ .” He didn’t feel like he could apologize enough. It wouldn’t fix it, he knew, and it likely would only piss Harry off further but he couldn’t stop himself. Instinct urged him to grovel at Harry’s feet, but he settled for apologizing. Over, and over again. Until, finally, Harry pressed a finger against his lips and tightened his grip in a half hug. 

“ _ Little dragon, stop apologizing. I told you I’m not angry at you or angry that you said that. Please, just breathe and stop apologizing. I’m not angry at you.” _ Draco couldn’t help himself. 

“ _ But you are angry. _ ” He fully expected at least a slap for that comment, and flinched, but Harry didn’t move. In fact, Harry had actually gone painfully still. For a second, Draco thought he might be trying not to trigger the Slytherin in his arms but then Draco realized he was getting ready to actually hit, and hit hard. He couldn’t breathe or move, he was frozen there. His limbs screamed at him to run but he couldn’t make his body respond so he just sat there, almost hyperventilating, as Harry chose his next words carefully. 

“ _ Yes, I am incredibly angry. But not at you, little dragon, never at you. _ ” Draco could not believe what he was hearing, honestly, because it didn’t make any sense. But his body wasn’t his to control anymore so his mouth opened and he spoke.

“ _ Because of me, then? _ ” Again, Harry sighed. The hand in his hair started to stroke again and, surprisingly, Draco found the little repetitive touch relaxing rather than terrifying. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, though, and he fought between his body and his mind because neither of them seemed to understand that Harry was a threat and that he had to get out of there as fast as possible. Between the two, though, he stayed frozen. 

“ _ No, not because of you either, little dragon. If I was angry because of something you did I would tell you, and we would talk. _ ” Not because of something he’d done… Then because of something he was? Draco’s stomach clenched and churned at the thought but it made sense. Was Harry angry that he was broken? Had he not realized just how deep that brokenness ran when they’d become close last year, and was now regretting it?

_ “Breathe, I wasn’t done explaining _ .” The command made him breathe, even if Draco didn’t want to. “ _ I’m not angry with you, or at you, or because of you. I’m angry at the effect saying those words had on you—not your reaction, Draco, and not that you said them in the first place. I’m angry because you were clearly terrified and I don’t know what you thought I was going to do to you but… I’m angry at whoever programmed that in you. At whoever made you that terrified of telling someone you love them, and at whoever made you look so surprised to hear it back. It’s them I’m angry with, not you little dragon. Never at you. _ ” He couldn’t breathe. Something about those words felt like honey in his veins because they sounded so sweet, so sincere, and so bloody protective that Draco wanted to believe them. But he knew better—he’d been taught better. Harry didn’t mean that, it was just an excuse for his anger, and if Draco pushed him he knew he would see that. He would see the real Harry, the angry one. 

“ _ You don’t mean that. _ ” What the hell was he doing!? Draco screamed at himself and at his own lips for saying such a thing because he knew, now, that Harry would beat him if not kill him. He curled into a ball and tried to breathe. Tried to brace himself to watch everything he’d let himself trust come crashing down as if it had ever really stood a chance. Harry didn’t move, though. 

“ _ Draco, I want to know what you keep bracing yourself for. What do you think I’m gonna do? _ ” This was dangerous territory, Draco felt it in the air and in the words, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like fifteen years of self control, of biting his tongue, of measuring and considering everything he ever did had just snowballed into this one moment and he couldn’t control his own mouth. 

“ _ Hit me. _ ” He screamed at himself but Harry didn’t move, didn’t even stiffen. 

“ _ Do you want me to hit you? _ ” What kind of a question was that? Was he supposed to say yes? Harry had always had the moral compass and the guilt complex between the two of them, was this his way of appeasing that before he laid into Draco? 

“ _...no? _ ” Immediately, Draco felt like that was the wrong thing to say. It was true, though, which was why his newly liberated mouth was spouting it out like he was half-confident in it. Harry pressed his cheek into the top of Draco’s head, as if he was steadying himself. 

“ _ If you don’t want me to hit you, and I don’t want to hit you, then why would I hit you? _ ” Draco shook his head and clamped his hand over his mouth because that bloody appendage had screwed this up enough already. “ _ What will it take to make you believe me? To get you to trust that I don’t want—and have never wanted—to hurt you? _ ” Again, Draco just shook his head. He knew if he let his mouth open it would never stop talking and he would spill all the years of secrets, all the pain, as if that was some kind of excuse or explanation. It wasn’t, though, and Harry was clearly upset. So, in lieu of making it even worse, he stayed silent. 

“ _ Draco, I want you to be completely honest with me. Know that it’s completely okay to say no to what I’m about to ask you, and I will not be mad, or hurt, or upset in any way. I’ll understand, just like always. Can you do that? Can you be one hundred percent honest with me just this once? _ ” He nodded, even if he felt like crawling into a hole and dying because he felt open and exposed and raw in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a kid and he hated it. But Harry was still there, just patiently stroking his arm, so Draco nodded. 

“ _ Yes, I can. _ ” His voice sounded stronger than he felt, for once, and Harry took that as his cue to keep going. 

“ _ Can I kiss you? _ ” For a second, everything stopped. “ _ And I don’t mean am I physically capable of it. I don’t mean, will you allow me to? I mean if I offered, asked even, like I am right now would you actually want me to? Not just tolerate it, or say yes because you’re afraid I’ll be upset. Would you want me to? _ ” Draco had to take a second just to get enough oxygen to process that question. His silence didn’t seem to upset Harry, though, which was a relief so he let himself get a grip. Harry was asking if he could kiss him. No, not could, Draco reminded himself. Harry was asking him if he  _ wanted  _ Harry to kiss him. 

“ _ I… think so? _ ” Harry didn’t move, which Draco suddenly found infuriating, so he tried again more confidently. “ _ I mean, yes. Yes, I would want you to, and yes I would let you. _ ” After a moment, he felt Harry take his chin between his thumb and pointer finger and lift it. Emerald met silver, in that moment, and Draco had to appreciate how ironic that was. Their eyes were the colors of Slytherin. He would tell Harry that later, if he survived this. Harry was just looking at him, completely calm, though, and almost looking relieved.

“ _ Are you being honest with me right now, Draco? _ ” Harry had that look on his face that said he was only going to ask once. For the first time since his near panic attack, Draco didn’t have to fight his mouth for control or try to lie.

“ _ Yes _ .” Harry searched his eyes for a moment, as if looking for any hint that Draco was lying, but the blond withstood the scrutiny. Because he wasn’t lying. The hand that was delicately holding his chin flattened and slid to cup the back of his neck. The arm previously loose around his shoulders tightened, curling to pull Draco’s body until he was practically straddling Harry’s lap. It was terrifying, but Draco didn’t want it to stop. 

“ _ I love you, little dragon. _ ” Draco moved to respond, to say it back because now he felt like he actually could without panicking, but he didn’t get the chance. Lips touched his own, stealing every bit of oxygen from his lungs in a heartbeat. His eyes closed, but Draco was overwhelmed. Harry was… perfect. 

He was so unbelievably gentle and, even as he guided Draco closer, he was never demanding. The Gryffindor didn’t take anything, only accepting what Draco gave. It was slow, at first, because Draco had never been kissed before and he doubted the golden boy had much experience, but they gradually found a rhythm. Slow, consistent, predictable movement. It sounded boring out loud but, for the moment, both of them needed boring. 

Draco needed predictable, because he still felt like the slightest jolt of fear would send him spiralling down a rabbit hole he would never escape. Harry needed consistency because he felt like he might stop breathing if he had to let go of the blond. He couldn’t let go, not yet. It was tame and chaste, even as Draco inadvertently deepened the kiss, but it was perfect. The Gryffindor tasted like chocolate, Draco realized. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth, even as a child, but this kind of chocolate was irresistible. Life-changing, even. 

It was Draco who pulled away. He wasn’t sure if Harry was waiting, letting him be the one to break the contact so he could take it at his own pace and keep it predictable. But. regardless. Draco only pulled away because he felt like he was forgetting how to breathe. The second they broke apart, though, Harry was hugging him. Tightly, protectively to his chest with so much intensity and emotion that Draco was taken aback. Even before, Harry had been careful. Like the raven-haired boy was holding back, for some reason, or afraid of scaring him with that much feeling so soon. Draco loved it, though. 

“ _ I love you lion. _ ” It still shot a pang of fear into Draco’s chest when he said it and he hesitated, waiting for a negative reaction, but Harry just hugged him tighter. Sitting in the (now) taller boy’s lap with his legs around that too-skinny waist, Draco let himself relax. For the first time in what felt like years, Draco could actually breathe. Somehow, that position was a hundred times more intimate than the way they had held each other before. Maybe it was the kiss, but something told Draco it was because he fit there. 

When they had first gotten close, there had been a lot of awkwardness and first-time uncertainty. Humans were heavy and, unlike in stories, it was very difficult to find positions that didn’t put at least one limb to sleep or crush someone’s lungs. They’d made it work and found a rhythm, but it was still awkward. Draco now realized it was because they’d never done it like this—never let Harry be taller, never let his legs wrap around the boy’s waist, never let him cling to Harry’s chest like a koala bear. Harry hummed in appreciation, too, and Draco could guess he liked holding him so close. And, apparently, burying his face in Draco’s hair. 

This… This was right. Draco wasn’t sure what let him say it now, as opposed to all those other times he’d let Harry be the exception, but this time was different. Stronger, in a more visceral way, that he couldn’t attribute to the ‘I love you’s or the kiss. All that awkwardness had momentarily just disappeared. He had no doubt it would return, and he didn’t mind, but for the moment everything was completely perfect and he just fit there with Harry, in his arms, in a way he’d never fit anywhere else. And he wasn’t scared. 

“ _ Thank you for trusting me, little dragon. _ ” Draco had to smile, then, because of course Harry would take a situation like that and thank him, of all things. He nuzzled a bit into the hollow of the Gryffindor’s throat and hummed. 

“ _ Thank you for being trustworthy, lion. _ ”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Please no flames!

“ _ Ever heard of scurvy? _ ” Harry didn’t let his head snap up, but his attention immediately went to the Slytherin table. He didn’t look—he wasn’t that stupid—but they had enough of a routine that he knew Draco could tell he was listening. 

“ _ Isn’t that the pirate disease? _ ” Thankfully, no one was paying much attention to him. Ron was currently engaged in a heated debate with Seamus and Dean about whether or not the Finnish national Quidditch team would make it to the World Cup this year. Hermione had shoved every bowl and goblet in a two foot radius to the floor and was scribbling furiously at her Arithmancy notes, which apparently had to be done during dinner and couldn’t wait until after. Harry honestly couldn’t even remember when she’d started taking Arithmancy. 

“ _ It’s a terrible disease, Lion. You get spots on your legs and your joints hurt all the time. Your gums will start to bleed, the red seeping out between your teeth like mold until every single tooth falls out. Your nose and mouth will start dripping blood and you won’t be able to stand up for very long, let alone eat. Doesn’t that sound awful?” _ Harry tried not to gag as he took another bite of his cheese and chicken soup. Had he pissed Draco off somehow? Was this some kind of punishment for something he hadn’t even meant to do?

“ _ I get it, I get it. Why are you telling me this now? _ ” He tried not to sound annoyed, but it was difficult. Maybe the distance would take a bit of the tone out of his voice? Regardless, he didn’t dare look over at the Slytherin table to see Draco’s expression so he kept his eyes on his soup and poked at a chunk of meat. 

“ _ It’s a horrible disease, Lion, and it’s exactly what is going to happen to you if you don’t stop pushing your broccoli around like it’s going to magically disappear. Rearranging it does not count as eating it, and you are not strictly a carnivore.”  _ Harry snorted, but thankfully no one looked up at him. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for the Gryffindors habit of becoming blind to their surroundings. Even from across the Great Hall, he could feel Draco’s eyes on him. 

“ _ You could have just told me to eat the broccoli, you prick.” _ It was ridiculous, but he was sure for a split second that he could hear Draco’s laugh. He couldn’t, and he knew that, but it made him smile a bit nevertheless. Grudgingly, he stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork and forced it into his mouth, glancing pointedly at the Slytherin table, though making sure his eyes never landed on Draco specifically. Merlin, he could  _ feel _ how smug the blond was. 

“ _ Yeah, but now you’ll think about scurvy every time you try to avoid your vegetables. It works even when I’m not here to watch you.”  _ Harry winced. They didn’t talk about that kind of thing often, and he had no doubt that it had been a mistake on Draco’s part, but it still stung a bit.  _ When I’m not here to watch you. _ Neither of them liked to think about breaks or summers if they could help it. Harry’s mind instinctively went to their first night back at Hogwarts for their fifth year, and he made a face at his soup to avoid gagging again. They’d run out of the salve, so a few of the deeper wounds on Draco’s back were still healing. 

He ate another piece of broccoli. 

“ _ How’s your back? _ ” Draco huffed at the change of subject, but Harry didn’t mind. They’d been getting better at this lately—talking across the Great Hall without being noticed, and figuring out exactly how much emphasis to put on sounds for them to be heard without drawing attention. 

“ _ It’s fine, like I keep telling you. And don’t think I didn’t see you slip a piece of carrot onto Granger’s plate.” _ Harry rolled his eyes but took the piece back. Normally, it would have annoyed him that his friends weren’t paying enough attention to notice that he was giving and taking things from their plates, but for the moment he was grateful. It made it that much easier to talk to Draco. 

“ _ Does that mean you don’t want help washing it tonight, then? _ ” Even as he said it, he knew what Draco’s response would be. He forced another piece of broccoli into his mouth and chewed dramatically in the direction of the Slytherin table, as if he could protest the vegetables from across the room. If Draco noticed it, he ignored it. 

“ _ I didn’t say that. _ ” That made Harry smile. Even if Draco was bitchy and one hell of a git sometimes, he wouldn’t dare risk losing their new nighttime routine. He’d tried—he’d honestly tried—after that first night to go back to their old pattern of just talking via notes after curfew but he couldn’t make himself relax. Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw the huge, gaping wounds that covered Draco’s skin. True, they’d healed the majority of them but he still couldn’t sleep and it only took a day or two for his patience to run out. Thus, their new routine had started. 

“ _ That’s what I thought, little dragon. Eleven tonight? _ ” He stabbed another piece of broccoli that he had no intention of eating. Draco could force feed him oranges if he was that worried about his Vitamin C intake. 

“ _ No, we did eleven on Sunday which means tonight is either twelve thirty or ten fifteen. _ ” Harry smiled at his broccoli. Even now, back at Hogwarts and in front of everyone, Draco always gave him the ultimate choice.

“ _ Twelve thirty. I want to be able to stay with you for a while. _ ” Instantly, as if his entire reason for coming to dinner was done now that they’d set a time, Draco stood and beckoned his followers out of the room. They followed—like followers—but Harry couldn’t help noticing that none of them looked at the blond. None of them saw the way he winced when his robes twisted too hard over his back, or the way he hid his hand in his sleeve when he grabbed his books. No one even looked up from their own conversations long enough to see Draco’s hand balled into a fist. 

It was because his nails looked terrible, Harry knew, and having a glamour on them all day was too draining for Draco’s magic. They were bruised and growing back crooked. All of them were far too short, even with the constant supply of a nail growth potion that he’d helped Draco make, and Harry prayed that no one would guess why. He knew they wouldn’t, though. No one would look at the blond and immediately guess that his nails were so battered from trying to claw his way through a wooden door. This Draco—the public Draco—just didn’t mix with that kind of frantic action. 

Harry knew better, though. He’d taken the blond’s hands in his own the first time Draco had let down the glamour and he’d had to fight his body not to throw up. Not because the nails were ugly, but because he knew that feeling. He’d tried that in his early days in the cupboard, back when he’d still thought that Petunia would sympathize with his panic attacks, and he could still see the bloody gouges he’d made in the wood if he looked hard enough. Even magic couldn’t fix marks like that. 

* * *

That night, at exactly twelve twenty six, Harry slid out of bed and wrapped himself in the invisibility cloak. He knew, by now, exactly how long it took him to get to the Prefects’ bathroom and he’d used the map to find every shortcut possible within their first week. Now, he had them memorized. His feet moved of their own accord and he let them direct his movement, trusting their sense of direction. They always took him to Draco, if he let them, even when they weren’t supposed to. 

Sure enough, Draco was already stretched out in the bath when he entered. The blond heard him—Harry knew from the slight intake of breath—but didn’t open his eyes until Harry was directly beside him. Even with all the bubbles and the smell of essential oils, Draco still managed to look anything but relaxed. Truly, it was a gift.

“ _ You’re a minute early. _ ” Harry flicked a bit of water at him, earning an indignant little shriek, but otherwise set about unpacking his bag. There was no salve anymore, but that didn’t mean that they were out of options. For the last two weeks, Harry had been making trips to the Hospital Wing on the nights that he didn’t meet Draco and he’d stolen enough herbs and potions to make up for the lack of a salve. Draco just watched him. 

“ _ Hey, _ ” His tone alone made Harry look up, surprised to see that Draco had turned to face him and was leaning on the edge of the bath. “ _ You okay? _ ” That wasn’t what he was really asking. It was ridiculous, considering they’d only been close for about a year and a half, but Harry had spent a lot of time learning the blond’s quirks and tells. He was checking because of the comment he’d let slip at dinner. 

_ “Yeah, I’m fine, little dragon. _ ” He knew Draco wouldn’t believe him, and would require much more reassurance before he could trust that Harry wasn’t angry with him, but that would come later. For the moment, Harry didn’t have the energy. Draco watched as he mixed Horntail honey and some herbs into a paste, offering the healing potions in the order they’d both memorized weeks ago. It smelled like Old Spice deodorant, though Harry didn’t bother saying so or explaining what deodorant was. 

“ _ Okay, up up. _ ” Harry knew that he was talking to Draco like he was a child, but neither of them seemed to mind. He’d done it every time this year and Draco had never commented. Instead, the blond just moved to the towel he’d set beside the bath and hopped up to sit on it, wrapping the cloth around his waist and putting his back to Harry. The Gryffindor kicked off his shoes and socks, rolling his pant legs up to his knees. They had a routine, by now. 

“ _ You coming? _ ” Draco hadn’t dared to be sassy with him yet, and wouldn’t until Harry convinced him that he wasn’t angry, but the voice was enough to spark him out of his thoughts. He nodded and settled into place behind the blond, letting his legs drop into the warm water on either side of him. Slowly, he began spreading the paste into the wounds. 

“ _ Are you angry? _ ” Harry nearly dropped the bowl. It wasn’t that Draco’s voice had surprised him, really, it was the question. Draco had never, ever directly asked that before. 

“ _ No, little dragon, I’m not angry. _ ” To emphasize that point, he set the bowl down and leaned in to kiss Draco on the cheek. He let his forehead rest against Draco's temple and just breathed for a second, inhaling the scent of the oils mixed with Draco's skin. When he pulled away, though, those grey eyes just looked at him. He felt the urge to reward Draco somehow for being brave enough to ask that question when he’d been so timid about it before, but he didn’t know how. Rather than risk breaking their routine, he just pressed his lips to Draco’s shoulder.

“ _ I’m not angry, I’m just tired. Neville kept me up with his snoring last night. _ ” Draco nodded, but didn't say a word. Still, a bit of the tension melted out of his shoulders and he let Harry massage the wounds without complaint. 

They sat like that, in silence, for the ten minutes they were supposed to let the mixture set. Harry pulled away and packed up the bottles. He heard Draco slip back into the water and he listened for the telltale gasp of air that would signal Draco coming back to the surface, but it didn't come. He tried to wait, but his mind was already racing. Image after image if Draco's body floating in the bath pounded into his skull and he whipped around, fully prepared to see nothing but blood in the water. Instead, Draco was just standing there. 

" _ Come here _ ." Draco very rarely ever gave him commands like that, so Harry obeyed almost instantly. He sat on the edge of the bath and let his legs slip under the bubbles. But, Draco evidently was not satisfied. The blond shook his head, but Harry didn't know what he wanted so he just looked right back at him until Draco moved. Slowly, the pale body sliced through the bubbles and stopped in front of him. 

" _ You're upset. _ " It wasn't a question. Merlin, he must have looked like absolute shit if Draco was taking control so confidently. He started to shake his head, but then Draco's hands were wet on his thighs. 

" _ I said upset, not angry. Where's your wand? _ " Harry gestured behind him towards his bag, but Draco's eyes didn't follow. The blond reached up, hands shaking and fingernails still a horrid purple, and undid the clasp of his cloak. He eased it off of Harry's shoulders, and went for his Gryffindor tie. Even if he was trembling, and even if he never broke eye contact—as if he constantly had to make sure that Harry was approving of this—he still pulled the tie off and tossed it back towards the bag. When Harry was in just his slacks and his button up, Draco let his hands dip back down to his hips. 

" _ You're upset. _ " He repeated, still not as a question. It was slow, but Harry was very aware of Draco's hands and he felt them curl around his belt. And then Draco pulled. 

" _ Little dragon... _ " Draco shook his head, though, before Harry could protest. He kept pulling and eased Harry all the way into water with him before guiding his hips again to sit on the tile bench. The water swirled and rose with the addition of another person, but even still the warmth only managed to reach Harry’s shoulders. Merlin, it felt like heaven.

“ _ Stop thinking so much. _ ” Again, Harry didn’t question it. He let Draco maneuver his body how he wanted it and he let the blond climb into his lap without a second thought. It wasn’t until he reached for Draco’s waist that he remembered. Draco was completely naked. 

That didn’t stop the blond, though. They’d expressly avoided any kind of naked contact because they were both worried it might trigger something in the other, but evidently one layer of clothing was enough. Draco leaned forward and wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, tucking himself into place. Even with his anxiety, Harry found himself running his hands up and down Draco’s back, tracing the edges of the wounds and drawing mindless patterns on the skin. Draco nuzzled his face beneath his jaw and stayed there, almost hiding. 

“ _ I’m not angry, little dragon. _ ” Draco just nodded, though Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the blond was hiding from him. He was aware of Draco’s hands, slipping beneath his shirt and smoothing over his lower back, but the pressure still made him gasp. It wasn’t in pain, but Draco still waited for reassurance before continuing. 

“ _ It’s okay, you just surprised me. _ ” The hands kept going. They massaged and soothed faster than the bath did and, before long, he was the one leaning on Draco. Why, though?

“ _ You need to learn to manage your stress, Lion _ .” Well, he wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean that Harry was in the mood to hear it. He huffed and planted his face against Draco’s bare shoulder, leaving barely-there kisses and tiny little nips wherever he could reach. Draco just sighed. It wasn’t sexual—neither of them were hard, or even thinking that way—but Draco still relaxed into the sensations. He was a sucker for physical contact. 

“ _ I love you too, little dragon. _ ” Draco looked up at the word ‘too’ but Harry had put it there very intentionally and he didn’t budge on it. Slowly, the blond let his face relax and he returned to his previous position. His dragon still didn’t say ‘I love you’ very often but he said it in other ways, with other words, that Harry was trying hard to get him to recognize and understand. It was  _ eat your vegetables _ and  _ you need to get more sleep _ , or even  _ get your shit together _ . That was how Draco said ‘I love you’, for now. 

“ _ Seriously, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you bottle it up like this. _ ” Harry couldn’t help but laugh, even if Draco jabbed him lightly in the side for it. 

“ _ Right because you would never bottle up your emotions, little dragon. _ ” Draco hmphed and wriggled in his lap, but ultimately didn’t leave. Just when he was sure he’d gotten the last word, though, that voice brushed against his ear drum. 

“ _ Shut up, broccoli-breath. _ ”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Please no flames!

Draco was sure of very few things in life. He was sure of his father’s violence, and his mother’s apathy. He was sure that History of Magic was a boring subject. And, now, he was sure that he loved Harry Potter. There wasn’t a lot he could do with that, or even about it, because the second his father caught wind of anything between them they would both suffer. So, it was secret. It had to be, as he’d told Harry a thousand times, because otherwise they were both in danger. 

That was the final thing Draco was completely sure of: their relationship had to be a secret, because if anyone knew, Harry would get hurt. Draco didn’t care if his father hurt him. But Harry? Harry was a kind of off-limits that Draco didn’t have words to explain and he knew that, if his father thought he cared, he would use that against him. 

It took one bludger for that to change. Slytherins valued their own principles very highly and Draco very, very rarely ever went back on anything he was sure of. He never had, actually, until he watched Harry plummet to the ground on the Quidditch field. His stomach tied itself in knots as he watched people flood the field, McGonagall among them, and he hissed frantically for Harry to answer him, to look at him, something to know that he was okay. But the Gryffindor was unconscious. 

Every second that Draco had to wait was excruciating. He couldn’t just run off, even if that was what his entire body was begging him to do, because if anyone could get word back to his father it would be the other Slytherins. So, he waited until they’d had their fill of insulting Potter and returned to the common room. There, Draco made his play.

“Off for extra potions lessons with Snape.” Blaise and Pansy congratulated him, while the rest rolled their eyes. Draco didn’t care, though, because they just had to believe it enough not to follow him and no one seemed interested enough to do that. He slipped out of the common room, and had to fight himself not to break into a run. 

The hospital wing was nearly empty and there was only one patient in a bed but, no matter how hard Draco tried to school himself into an apathetic stroll, he half-ran to the bed. Harry was there, looking completely shattered. His face was almost half bruises and his arm was clearly broken at an odd angle, complementing the cast on his foot nicely. Draco wanted to throw up. He knew it was only a Quidditch injury and that it was far enough from the last break that Harry wasn’t in danger of being found out, but something about seeing any kind of injury on the Gryffindor’s skin made his insides burn with anger. He knew the Dursleys hadn’t done this, but that didn’t help. Just as he started to reach for Harry, to take his hand and feel his pulse and just reassure himself that the boy was alive, he heard a voice. 

“Oi Malfoy! The bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” Draco jumped, but didn’t move away from the bed as Ron and Hermione approached, followed closely by McGonagall and Pomfrey. Shit. He’d been so panicked he hadn’t even realized there were other people in the room. 

“Trying to finish off the competition, Malfoy?” More than anything, he just wished Ron would shut up and stop calling him that name. All he wanted was to know that Harry was okay. 

“Mr. Malfoy, I must say I’m quite surprised to see you here. Come to see that Potter was alright?” Silently, Draco took back every bad thing he’d ever thought about McGonagall because the way she looked at him was downright maternal and Draco found himself squirming under it, just trying his hardest not to cry. He opened his mouth to agree, but Ron didn’t let him.

“Are you kidding, Professor!? Malfoy? Why would he give two shits about Harry?” Vaguely, he heard McGonagall reprimand Ron for his language and he heard Hermione elbow the redhead, but he wasn’t listening. They were watching him. Why would he give two shits about Harry? He scrambled, trying to find a way to make them understand that Harry was his everything and that the mere thought of his lion being hurt made his blood boil, but he couldn’t. Tears began to sting behind his eyes and he bit his lip so hard it bled. 

“Hush, Ron, maybe Draco’s had a change of heart.” Hermione was trying, for some reason, and being nice but Draco just shook his head. He started to back away. The second Ron had said that, Draco had realized what a huge mistake he was making. What if Snape had seen? What if his father had heard that he’d come running in half-mad because the golden boy had been in a Quidditch accident? He shook his head faster, trying to shake out the images. 

Harry, lying dead in a pool of blood. Lucius grinning widely at him as he cast curse after curse to make Draco raise his wand, to make Draco mutter the spell, to make Draco torture Harry. The sound of screaming filled his head and he willed it to go away but it only got stronger. Crucio after crucio. Until his father looked the happiest Draco had ever seen him.  _ Cast it, Draco _ . And he couldn’t overpower the curse as much as he wanted to, as much as every fiber of his being screamed against it and fought, he felt his lips form the words.  _ This is your chance, Draco, to take revenge. _ No sound came, and his father screamed again and crucio cursed them both just to make a point. Draco’s hand shook, but he said the words.  _ Sectumsempra. _

“Mr. Malfoy?” Draco hadn’t realized he was still standing there, being watched. His hands shook and he grabbed at his robes to hide the fact that his entire body was starting to tremble. He wanted to just curl into a ball and sob. He wanted Harry to wake up and take him in his arms the way he always did when Draco was this close to a panic attack and he wanted it all to be over. But his father would know. He didn’t need another mental montage of what his father would do if he found out. Draco swallowed the blood from his lip and steeled his voice. 

“No, he’s right. Came to see the damage for myself. It’s just  _ Potter _ , after all.” With that, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to leave. He stopped, halfway, and turned back to Pomfrey. 

“Please keep me updated. And  _ not _ through my father.” Pomfrey nodded, but Ron shot Draco a confused look that made him realize how suspicious that was. “What, Weasley? I can’t keep tabs on the competition? We have a match next week and if it’s going to be cancelled I want to be the first to know.” Then Draco did leave. He was in the threshold of the doorway and tears were perched precariously in his eyes, threatening to fall, and he didn’t think anything could stop him. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Pomfrey or even McGonagall. But a single, whispered hiss made his entire body freeze. 

His mind screamed at him to keep going, to leave, to run and get as far away as possible so that no one would see him fall apart. He wasn’t supposed to be this upset over Harry’s injury. He wasn’t supposed to show up in the hospital wing, worried out of his mind and just begging to know the second he was okay. He wasn’t even supposed to see Harry outside of the invisibility cloak. But that whisper took control of his body. 

He was sealing Harry’s fate, and his own, but he turned on his heel and stopped. His lower lip was trembling now because he could already feel the imperius curse forcing his wand up, forcing curses from his lips. He could already see Harry’s body, dead, because of him. But that whisper had stopped him, and the rest of the room, because it was Parseltongue. 

“ _ Please don’t. _ ” Harry was sitting up in bed now, holding his head with one hand and blinking at them all. Thank Merlin everyone was staring at the Gryffindor, or they would have seen a rogue tear slip down Draco’s cheek and disappear into the floor. Harry was looking at him, though, and not breaking eye contact. 

“Harry! You’re okay!” Ron and Hermione moved to hug him but Harry barely noticed, still staring at Draco. His eyes were like emerald rings of fire on Draco’s skin.

“ _ Please don’t go. _ ” The Parseltongue made everyone stop. It didn’t sound angry, for the first time in years, and Draco wanted to scream at him to put on the show but he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe, even, let alone take control of the situation. 

“Mr. Potter?” McGonagall looked worried, afraid like Harry had forgotten English when he’d hit his head or like there was about to be a fight, but Harry didn’t look away from him. Slowly, Draco shook his head. 

“ _ I have to. You know he’s gonna— _ ” But for once Harry was firm on it. He didn’t budge, he didn’t sympathize or nod, he didn’t relent. There was steel in those eyes for the first time since Draco had met him and it put the entire room on edge. 

“ _ Little dragon, please. I can tell you’re panicking, please let me help you. _ ” Draco couldn’t stop shaking his head, over and over again because Harry was right and he knew he was right and Draco was panicking but he didn’t know how to stop it. He felt blood on his hands, warm, even though Harry was sitting right there in one piece. Sectumsempra. His father’s cold, malicious glee as he forced Draco to hurt the one person who meant more to him than life itself, over and over again. Draco shook his head. 

“ _ He’ll make me hurt you. Please, I don’t want to hurt you! _ ” The Parseltongue made everyone tense but Harry was determined, pushing harder on this than Draco had ever seen him push before. Why, though? He knew as well as anyone that his father would do exactly that. If he wasn’t afraid of Lucius, he could at least respect the fact that Draco was.

“ _ Draco, please. I can protect you, we can get help somehow. Isn’t it better he finds out when you’re safe than let you walk into a trap because someone informed on you? Draco, please I’m asking you to trust me. I don’t have it all figured out but we can be safe, we— _ ”

“He’ll make me kill you!” Draco didn’t realize until he saw the faces around him change that he’d slipped and said that in English. Harry’s entire face fell, but it was nothing compared to the shock and disbelief from everyone else. Draco couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning, now, because they would all start asking questions and Weasley would spread the rumor, if someone else didn’t, because he’d always hated Draco but… Then Harry was getting up, out of the bed. Pomfrey yelled at him and Hermione tried to grab his arm but McGonagall was the force of authority in the room and she was stunned speechless, just watching. Slowly, Harry hobbled over to him and stopped mere inches away. 

“ _ Little dragon, _ ” Harry looked close to tears and Draco realized that his own body had betrayed him—he was crying, actually crying—now. “ _ I know you’re scared. We’ll figure something out, we’ll disappear, we’ll change our names, I don’t care. We’ll find a way to be safe, okay? You’re panicking and I want to help you, I really do, but I’m not going to unless you tell me it’s okay. I won’t expose that if you really don’t want me to. But, Draco, I think there will already be enough questions circulating about this, so is it really worth hiding even that little bit? _ ” 

It was clear, now, that the rest of the room understood they weren’t arguing. Harry was taller, even with the cast, and he blocked Draco from their view for the most part but he was also right and Draco knew it. Already, it was over. His father was probably already getting word about this little episode and it would all come crashing down. That instinct to protect Harry physically hurt him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it because Lucius was, well, Lucius and there was nothing he could do to stop the dominos from falling even if he still felt Gryffindor blood on his hands. The tears fell faster. 

“ _ Lion _ …” His voice shook and trembled badly over the word—so badly, apparently, that it made Harry hear the word lying. The raven-haired boy stepped up to reassure him but Draco didn’t give him a chance. There was no salvaging this now. It was too late and whatever bad things were going to happen weren’t going to be stopped by any shred of self control anymore so Draco closed the distance and pulled Harry into a searing kiss. 

It was quick, but it was enough. Draco crumbled and Harry held him, miraculously, as he clung to the dirty Quidditch uniform and tried to breathe. For once, he just needed everything to go right but he knew it wouldn’t. Before he could try to explain, though, or try to get them into hiding somehow Harry was turning to McGonagall, keeping one hand in his hair as he addressed her calmly.

“I understand that this is an unusual set of circumstances and I promise you, Professor, I will give you a full explanation. I will answer all of your questions, but what I’m about to ask is incredibly time sensitive. We need to get somewhere safe, immediately, somewhere that no one knows about and no one can reach us because more than one life depends on it. Please, Professor.” McGonagall, shockingly, looked moved both by the speech and by how broken Draco must have looked clinging to Harry’s embrace. She shook off whatever spell she was under, and turned to Harry.

“I trust you, Mr. Potter. Can you tell me who or what you need to be hidden from? So that I can best protect you?” Harry hesitated, and Draco felt the hand in his hair tighten ever so slightly like he was afraid of giving up that information. Draco didn’t care, though. Everything was going to hell already and it might as well all go down with them. Harry seemed to sense that, and started to soothe him again as he turned back to McGonagall, ignoring for a moment the other students and the mediwitch. 

“Lucius Malfoy.” 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Thank you so much to everyone who's commented/reviewed!!! Please no flames!

Draco couldn’t remember much of what happened after Harry said that name. There had been a lot of confusion, and a lot of chaos. A lot of panic on his part, too. He remembered McGonagall yelling—a lot of yelling, now that he thought about it, which was unusual for the calm, collected head of Gryffindor—and he remembered her physically slapping someone, but he couldn’t remember who. Draco was shocked, honestly, by how protective the woman suddenly seemed. It was likely because she loved Harry, and Draco was apparently part of a package deal so he got included haphazardly. But he’d never seen the woman so angry. 

He would have liked to have said that her anger did nothing to him, that he just shrugged it off because she wasn’t his head of house and she couldn’t do much to him, but it hit him hard. All anger did, the more he realized it, and when she yelled it turned his blood to ice. Draco shuddered and shrank into Harry’s side, but the Gryffindor just put his arm around Draco’s shoulders and held him close. Thank Merlin, Draco couldn’t help thinking. 

Harry was sitting with him, still bandaged and beat up from the Quidditch mess, in McGonagall’s office. Not Dumbledore’s, Draco noticed, and he couldn’t help wondering if his father had finally succeeded in removing the old man from his position. Pomfrey was sitting with them, fretting nervously over Harry and McGonagall but ignoring Draco.

“Minerva, please, consider your blood pressure… Just take a breath.” But McGonagall was not having any of it, especially not when she was in such a fit of rage, and she turned on the mediwitch.

“I will _not_ take a breath, Poppy! They are _children_!” Draco flinched when she yelled, though neither woman noticed, but Harry instinctively tightened his arm around his shoulders in reassurance. 

“ _Why is she so angry?_ ” He felt Harry jump at the Parseltongue, but it didn’t seem like Draco had surprised him. Rather, he seemed surprised by the language itself. 

“ _It’s okay, little dragon, everything is going to be okay now._ ” But that didn’t answer his question and Harry’s avoidance only made Draco more anxious. Had something gone wrong? Surely they weren’t trying to confront his father somehow, right?

“ _But why is she angry?_ ” Beside him, Harry sighed. He squeezed Draco’s shoulders again, letting the blond momentarily bask in his warmth, but leaned their heads together as they watched the two adults argue. 

“ _You’ve been out of it for a bit, little dragon. We’re waiting here while they prepare whatever safe place we’re going to. But McGonagall wanted a reason for going to such great lengths to hide us, so I had to give her one. I told her about your father. I’m sorry, I know that isn’t what you wanted, but they were going to do a search and scan of your body if I didn’t say something and I figured at least this way you could choose what they know, somewhat._ ” Draco nodded, letting his head fall to Harry’s shoulder as he positioned himself to listen. He wasn’t upset. Just curious, honestly, because he couldn’t understand why anything would get the witch so worked up.

“ _It’s okay. It had to happen eventually. Is she mad about what your uncle and cousin did to you?_ ” Draco hadn’t meant to make the golden boy flinch, and guilt brewed in his gut when Harry curled in on himself a bit, but he stayed quiet. That was the only reasonable explanation he could think of. McGonagall might have pretended to be upset that Lucius was abusing his own son, but she wouldn’t have cared. Not really. If Harry had come clean about the Dursleys, though, he could see the woman going full mother hen and protecting her favorite student. 

“ _No, she’s angry at what your father did. And at Snape and Dumbledore for letting it happen._ ” Wait a minute. Draco stopped completely and turned to face Harry, forcing him to meet his eyes. McGonagall was this upset because Draco had been hurt? But why did she care?

“ _Why?_ ” Harry gave him a disbelieving look that said Draco had missed something again, some normal human thing that he would have expected if he wasn’t so fucked up. He shrugged it off though and resolved to let Harry explain it later. Regardless, McGonagall was upset and it wasn’t because Harry had told her about the Dursleys—

“ _Lion, you told her about your relatives, right?_ ” Harry gave him another look and squeezed his shoulders but Draco was not about to let this go. There were a lot of things that Harry could just gloss over with little movements like that, little protective touches or little kisses to distract him, and Draco never really minded. But this was different, this was too important.

“ _Harry. You’re going to tell her, right?_ ” Harry had gone quiet and slightly pale, though, and Draco squeezed his hand because now he was worried. Why wouldn’t Harry tell? If McGonagall got that protective over Draco, someone she didn’t even care about, then clearly Harry had to know she would spare no expense to protect him. Besides, if one secret was out and they were already facing the consequences… Might as well get it over with, right?

 _“Hush little dragon you need to rest._ ” Draco pulled back, though, and glared. He was not going to be coaxed out of this one because this was important—to him, and to Harry—and this was necessary. His father was going to kill him, sooner or later, or at the very least take him away from Harry. Which would mean Harry would be alone. Completely alone. They wouldn’t be able to lean on each other, Harry would just suffer completely by himself with no one who understood what was happening or why. He would become Draco pre-Hogwarts. 

“ _No! No I’m not going to just rest or shrug this off Harry. If you don’t tell her, I will._ ” Harry was taken aback. Just for a second, Draco could swear he saw pain in those emerald eyes as if Draco was betraying him somehow by threatening to tell. 

“ _You wouldn’t do that to me._ ” But Harry didn’t sound confident anymore and the steel was in Draco’s eyes, not his. Draco pulled back and stood, moving towards McGonagall even when Harry caught his wrist and begged him not to. He stopped, meeting those eyes again. Harry was scared. 

“ _I’m going to tell her, Lion, or you are. Unlike the Dursleys, my father will not give me up without a fight and I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to die. He’ll kill me, Harry, no matter what anyone does because he’ll find a way. Which is why you need someone who knows, who can protect you when I’m not here._ ”

“ _Don’t say things like that.._ ” But Draco was already halfway across the room and ignoring Harry’s tears. This was for the best, he told himself, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Harry suffered alone just because Draco had kept quiet. 

“Professor,” McGonagall wheeled on him, fire in her eyes, but stalled when she saw who it was. “Harry needs to be protected from the Dursleys, too.” He heard Harry choke on the couch against the wall but ignored it, facing straight ahead and looking McGonagall dead in the eyes. She was… confused?

“Mr. Malfoy, what do you mean?” Now or never, right? He could feel Harry moving closer, acting like he was going to stop him or intervene somehow, so Draco just blurted the first thing that came to his mind. 

“He gets hurt too, the same as me.” Harry stopped, Draco felt his presence stall halfway across the room, but he couldn’t let himself go back on it. “It’s true, Professor. We lean on each other, that’s what makes it bearable, but when my father gets to me I won’t be able to help him anymore. He gets the same treatment from his uncle and cousin that I do from my father.” Harry was crying, Draco could feel the shame and disbelief and sadness radiating off of his lion, but he had to do this. It was to protect Harry. 

“What treatment is that, Mr. Malfoy?” He had to do it. Draco dug his fingernails into his palms and cursed himself but he had to do it because otherwise Harry had no hope. Someone had to protect him once Lucius came, and it wouldn’t be Draco. 

“The yelling, the insults, the beatings… the rape.” His own stomach lurched and Draco almost keeled over right there because he’d never let himself use that word before. It was always assault or use or even violate… Calling it rape made it seem so much more real. But he couldn’t let himself get caught up in that because he could hear Harry sobbing now, almost as strong as he could feel it, and he’d said his peace so he returned to his lion where he was kneeling on the floor and joined him. He fully expected Harry to push him away, to hate him forever for what he just did, but the Gryffindor welcomed him. They fell into their usual position, Draco sliding into place in Harry’s lap to nestle against his chest, but for once it seemed like Harry needed to hold onto him more than Draco needed to be held. 

“ _I’m sorry, Lion.”_ Harry just cried and held him tight, occasionally shaking his head, but it was enough. Even if Harry never forgave him now Draco could at least die knowing he would be protected, that he would be safe. He risked a glance at McGonagall and Pomfrey, where they hadn’t moved. The head of Gryffindor house looked like she was seconds from passing out, and Draco watched her chest stutter over each breath as if she was struggling to comprehend anything at all, least of all what he’d said. Pomfrey was red in the face and shaking. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry interrupted the professor, though, with a choked little voice. 

“He doesn’t like that name.” Surprisingly, McGonagall didn’t argue or even question it she just turned back to Draco as Harry hid his face in the blond’s hair.

“Draco, I cannot stress enough how it important it is that we be completely clear on what you’re saying. You’re telling me that Vernon Dursley has sexually assaulted Harry?” His lion stiffened, but Draco was more than prepared to take the questioning as he was sure Harry had done for him because they leaned on each other. It was what they did.

“No, he condoned and initiated it but it’s his cousin who does it.” Even if Draco was normally the submissive one in their relationship, he found himself tangling his hand in Harry’s hair and soothing him the way his lion always did when he had panic attacks. It helped, thankfully, even though Harry wasn’t panicking. McGonagall watched them with her lips pressed into a very thin, very angry line. 

“And your father, too,” Harry butted in, reminding him. If they were going down they were both going down together, it seemed. McGonagall’s face didn’t change and Draco wasn’t surprised that she didn’t care, but he let Harry add in the detail anyways. Slowly, the professor spoke.

“Draco, you’re telling us that Dudley Dursley has sexually assaulted Harry?” He nodded. “And that your father, Lucius Malfoy, has sexually assaulted you?” That one took Draco longer to respond. Old fear boiled up and screamed at him to lie, to make excuses, to do anything to save the story he’d spent so many years spinning, but Harry squeezed his hand. Draco nodded. 

“Poppy, I want complete medical scans and physical examinations of each boy done as quickly as possible. If what they’re saying is true, this will go to the high court as early as tomorrow.” Draco didn’t bother to protest, even if that churned in his gut like acid, because he knew the school would take legal action. His father would be furious, but now that Harry was being protected he could face his father. He could disappear into himself and let the pain take him away, he could live in the basement of the Manor for the rest of his life and let his father do whatever he wanted. He could live with nothing but agony, as long as Harry was being protected. 

“Boys,” McGonagall’s voice was surprisingly calm and full of warmth, but Draco still managed to flinch. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m so proud of you both for telling us, which I’m sure was very hard to do. Things are going to get very complicated very fast, especially with your father’s influence, Draco, but I want you to know that everything is going to be okay. We’re going to go to a safe location, soon. If it’s alright with you both, I would like to accompany you and bring Madame Pomfrey so she can assess and treat your wounds. Normally, I would suggest that you two be separated and quarantined for questioning in order to preserve evidence but it looks like that won’t be an option?” It was a question, but Harry still clutched Draco so hard that it nearly suffocated him. “That’s settled, then. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Thank you, Professor.” If it had been any other situation, Draco would have laughed at the way Harry maintained his professionalism with the woman no matter what. Even he did, which said something about the amount of respect the students had for her. But, when he called her professor, McGonagall’s face hesitated and then broke into a sad little smile that looked almost motherly. She reached for the boys, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she just gave them both that little smile, letting her eyes linger on the way Draco’s fingers were winding through the brunet’s hair. 

“Please, call me Minnie boys. There’s no wizard equivalent of CPS—I’m sure you know what that is, Harry—but due to present circumstances Hogwarts will be taking temporary custody of you, and I volunteered. I hope that’s alright with you?” Harry nodded, speaking for both of them, and Draco took that as his signal that Harry was okay enough to take back control of the situation. He buried his face in Harry’s chest and let his lion do the talking. 

“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you, Prof- Minnie.”

* * *

Life with Minnie wasn’t bad at all. She was more than nice to them, and she did everything in her power to reassure or help however she could. But, she also seemed to understand when to back off and just let them handle each other, which was a very nice change from the other adults in their lives, even Pomfrey. 

The only issue was magic. 

Since their wand signatures could be traced and, since Lucius had countless resources and people trying to find them, the four were forbidden from using magic for anything. Pomfrey got her potions via something called a post office rather than owl, too, because the owls could be tracked and used to find them. No magic was… difficult. Harry was perfectly fine with it, both because he trusted the woman a great deal and because he’d grown up in a Muggle household. Draco, though… 

Draco was not allowed to use anything in the kitchen, other than the cupboards and the fridge. Which, Harry had explained, was just another, larger cupboard that stayed colder than all the other cupboards in the house. Confusing, but Draco soon saw the point of it the first time he pulled out his wand to charm his food to a certain temperature and was stopped. The microwave, oven, and stove however were off limits. Draco had tried, with Harry’s direction, but after nearly burning down their entire hiding place not one, not two, but three separate times he was banned from cooking anything. He didn’t mind, though, because he was rubbish at it anyways. 

The Slytherin had grown up with house elves who did everything from cooking to laundry for him, and it showed. Realistically, he knew it would be different here. He had not been prepared, however, for all the little tiny nuances of Muggle living that he’d never even stopped to notice before now. Laundry, for example. You had to actually add the soap to the machine, it wasn’t charmed to just add itself. It was chores, mostly, that tripped Draco up because he hadn’t ever done them, even with magic, and Harry loved to tease him relentlessly on the subject. 

Harry, though, was something else entirely. Draco had known he grew up in a Muggle house, as a Muggle, for the first eleven years of his life but it was still shocking. The Dursleys had made him do chores, he’d mentioned, and cook for them every day—so, not only was he good at it, he was efficient. He taught Minnie how to shop for groceries, though neither had actually gone with her. He taught Pomfrey how to work a television, though she insisted that she knew exactly how and continued fiddling with the buttons after he’d fixed it. But, most of all, he’d taught Draco how to live. 

It sounded so dramatic but it was true nevertheless. Draco had lived his entire life depending on others—on house elves, on his parents, on professors, and then on Harry—and he hadn’t realized how freeing it was to be able to do things for yourself. To not have to ask someone to do anything for him, and to not count on anyone else for the necessities. Money, even, became an issue. He did lean on Harry considerably, especially in the knowledge department, but the more things Draco learned to do for himself the more empowered he became. Finally, he felt like he could survive without his parents and their money. 

* * *

“Essays on the table, boys.” Draco gently placed his stack of parchment on the cheap, plastic folding table. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Harry scribbling furiously at the last few pages of his own essay, no doubt having waited until the last possible second to finish it.

“Table, Mr. Potter, your essay was due two minutes ago and unless you would like to see me in detention you will turn it in now—finished, or not.” Harry huffed and reluctantly surrendered his crumpled pile of parchment, no doubt noticing the disdainful quirk of McGonagall’s brow as she picked it up. The Transfigurations professor turned guardian was many things, but she was not the kind to play favorites. She would fail Harry, if she had to, and that was what made her both the best and the worst kind of professor. As usual, Draco expected nothing less than perfect marks. 

“Very well, if you would open your books to page 228, we will be beginning today’s lesson with the Substantive charm. This will be on your OWLs, so I suggest you read the section carefully. We will begin practicing in thirty minutes.” Draco looked down at his book and began to read, thankful that charms was not his weakness. He could see Minnie, or rather McGonagall as she was teaching them currently, out of the corner of his eye marking their essays. Harry’s had a lot of red ink. 

“ _ What does this charm even do, dragon? _ ” Draco rolled his eyes and nudged Harry with his foot under the table. 

“ _ Well, if you read the section, you might find out, lion. _ ” Harry stuck his tongue out at him, but was quickly chided by McGonagall. She was, after all, sitting only two feet away from them. 

“ _ Fine, don’t help me, _ ” Harry hissed, keeping his eyes on the book but flicking at Draco’s quill with one hand just to be annoying. “ _ Guess you’ll be eating cold Mac and cheese again tonight. _ ” 

“ _ I think I can manage to use a simple microwave, thank you very much. _ ” Harry just raised an eyebrow.

“ _ Can you? Because last I checked— _ ” 

“I do believe that reading is a silent activity, Mr. Potter.” Immediately, they both went back to their books but not before Harry kicked his shin under the table. It wasn’t hard and it didn’t really hurt, but Draco still glared. How mature.

* * *

As they spent more time with Minnie, Draco got more and more comfortable with her. It was clear that Harry trusted her with his life, and Draco’s, but the Slytherin would have been lying if he’d said he’d followed suit immediately. Their relationship had taken time. 

“May I ask you something, Professor?” She tsked at him but motioned to the couch regardless.

“I’ve told you, Draco, call me Minnie. I’m hardly your transfigurations teacher anymore.” Draco nodded and took the seat. McGonagall was sitting in the armchair that had gradually become hers, doing some kind of paperwork by the fire. Harry was asleep in their bedroom, which was what had given Draco the courage to finally do this. 

“May I ask you something, Minnie?” She smiled softly in his direction but kept her attention on the paperwork. She’d begun doing that, at Harry’s suggestion. He’d said it would help with the anxiety and the panic if she didn’t make a lot of eye contact or directly focus on him and, shockingly, it actually seemed to work. 

“Of course, Draco, you can ask me anything.” He balled his hands into fists in his lap, digging his nails into his palms. It was just a question. Right? She wouldn’t get angry or upset with him, she’d proven that hundreds of times, and he knew that but part of him still ached to go get Harry. To have some kind of shield to put between him and the woman if she did react badly. 

“Can I trust you?” She put down the paperwork but kept her eyes on the fire. 

“I like to think so, but that’s your decision, Draco.” Again, Draco clenched his fists and tried to ignore the churning of his stomach. It was just a question, he could ask a question. He needed to do this for Harry, if nothing else, and he needed it to be McGonagall who answered. 

“My father is looking for me, right?” She nodded, but didn’t speak. “I know him, and I know what he’s capable of. He’s going to find a way to get to me, somehow, and I don’t know how he’ll do it but I know he won’t stop until he does.”

“Draco, you’re safe here and you know—” He held up his hand, and she fell silent. It was remarkable how quickly she’d shifted from treating him like an annoying child to treating him like an adult. He wondered sometimes if she even knew she was doing it.

“I’m not looking for reassurance, Minnie. I don’t need to be argued with or convinced because the bottom line is, I know my father will find me. He will. And I’ve made my peace with that.” McGonagall looked so saddened by what he was saying that Draco almost hesitated. It wasn’t bad, was it? He was just telling her the truth, like she’d done for them, and Draco didn’t understand why that would upset her. He’d said he didn’t need an argument, though, so she didn’t argue. She was the first adult who’d ever actually listened to him when he said that, and stayed quiet, continuing to listen to him.

“I’m not worried about what he’ll do to me when he finds me, honestly, because I’ve lived my whole life waiting for him to snap. I’ve cut everything I could ever lose out of my life. There’s no one he can use against me—no friends, no family members, no one I care about. Except Harry. I know my father, Minnie, and I have a pretty good idea of what he’ll do when he finds me. It’s not enough to just hurt me. It’s not enough to just hurt Harry, either, he’ll want me to be the one who does it. He’ll use every curse, every potion, every bit of magic that he possibly can, no matter how dark, to make me hurt him. So, knowing that, I need to ask you a favor.” The woman looked close to tears and, for the life of him, Draco couldn’t understand why—unless she hated the thought of her golden boy being hurt. Which, honestly, Draco did too. It felt different, though, like it had more to do with them and whatever was happening right now. 

“Ask away.” This was the moment of truth. He had to do it, though, he had to because otherwise Harry would get hurt. And Draco would be the one who hurt him. 

“Harry loves me, as I’m sure you know, and when my father makes me hurt him… I think he’ll let me. He’s said a hundred times that he would rather die than hurt me, and I’m afraid that extends to self-defense, even if it’s life or death. He won’t defend himself—not if it means hurting me—and my father won’t stop until he’s dead.”

“What are you asking me, Draco?” Deep breaths, in and out, Draco tried to calm himself. He wanted to just break down and sob right there on the floor but he needed this and he needed Harry not to know—not to fight it. 

“To do what I know he won’t. When my father gets to me, when he tries to make me hurt Harry, I’m asking you to intervene.”

“You know I will always protect you both—”

“No, Minerva.” She stopped, staring at the fire as tears fell down her cheeks. “I’m not asking you to protect us both, I’m asking you to protect  _ him _ . I cannot have his blood on my hands, not now. I know this is cruel and unfair but if I cast a killing curse on myself, my father will stop me—I’ve tried before, multiple times. When he gets to me, I won’t be able to stop myself. I’m asking you, Minerva, to stop me.” Draco felt like all the oxygen had just been zapped out of the air, and he couldn’t breathe. He needed this so much more than she would ever understand, needed a guarantee that someone would do something before he hurt Harry. McGonagall wasn’t looking away from the fireplace.

“You’re asking me to commit murder.” That word thudded against him like a kick to the ribs, but he dug his nails into his palms a little harder and kept going.

“I’m asking you to protect Harry, at all costs.” The woman sneered. For the first time in all the years he’d known her, McGonagall looked downright Slytherin as she stared at the fire: full of malice and trying to come up with a plan. She laughed, but it was dark and hollow in a way that reminded Draco surprisingly of his mother. 

“You’re not a cost, Draco, you’re a human being.” When he didn’t say anything or argue, she sniffed and continued. “Losing you would do more damage to him, I suspect, than you think.” But Draco wasn’t in the mood to argue about this, he just needed her to agree. He needed that weight off his chest and he needed, more than anything, to know that Harry would be safe when his father came. If not…

“Minnie, I don’t doubt that I mean a lot to him. But this is the one thing I can’t do on my own and I’m begging you to promise me that you will kill me before I hurt him. Don’t let that be what he remembers about me. Please.” Draco’s voice was shaking now, as badly as McGonagall’s and he choked on tears he’d hadn’t realized were falling. The woman stared at the fire, unblinking. 

“If I say no, are you going to take matters into your own hands?” Draco grimaced, but this was probably the most important conversation of his entire life so he didn’t let himself run. Harry was nearby, just a room away, and reeked of safety and comfort. He wanted so badly to bury himself in his lion’s arms and just breathe, to forget about all of this and focus on the fact that they were safe. But he couldn’t, because Lucius was coming.

“If you’re asking if I would kill myself in order to stop myself from hurting him in the future, the answer is yes. I won’t hesitate, either, but if we take that approach I’m already living on borrowed time. The moment my father shows up, it’ll be too late. Which gives me only one option, seeing that no one really knows when he’s going to come, and that’s to do it right now. I don’t want to, though, I want to savor every moment until that final nail in the coffin.” He wasn’t arguing anymore, or begging. His young, teenage voice was shaky but it wasn’t offering any room for interpretation or argument, it was explaining the way things were going to be. Slowly, McGonagall turned to look at him. 

Somehow, between the bludger incident and now, she’d gotten so much older and so much sadder. Draco had never noticed before but the lines that tugged at her face had deepened considerably and her warm, bony hands trembled where they held her mug. Behind those signature spectacles, her eyes were hard and full of anger. Not at him, Draco could sense, but at something similar to that day in her office after she’d found out. She looked as hopeless as he felt. 

“I will make you a counter offer, Draco. I will do everything I possibly can to protect you both, and to keep your father away from you. If I fail, I will do everything I can to rescue you. If I fail again, I will wait and make sure that your father’s plan actually involves and endangers Harry. If it does, I will do everything I can to stop it and save you both. Everything. But, if all of that fails and it comes down to you, with a killing curse on your tongue, and I swear to you then—and only then—will I… intervene.” It felt too easy, too good to be true, so Draco stuck out his hand.

“Make me an Unbreakable Vow.” McGonagall paled, and Draco was sure he’d called her bluff, but she took his hand and raised her wand. 

“I vow to you, Draco Malfoy, that if you, for some reason, attempt to kill Harry Potter I will stop you.” 

“By?” Her jaw trembled but McGonagall swallowed hard and steeled herself.

“By killing you first.” With that, the vow was sealed and Draco stepped back with a breath of relief. It felt like an impossible weight had been lifted off his chest and, even if he felt horrible for putting that burden on someone else, it felt good, too. Because he wasn’t terrified of torturing—of killing—the one person he loved most. 

“Thank you, Minnie.” She shook her head at him and turned back to the fire but he’d been genuine in his gratitude. He understood, though, that she had a weight to bear now. Draco wasn’t expecting her to love or cherish him—he never had—but it meant the world to him that she’d agreed, and vowed. She was upset now, and rightfully so. Regardless, he felt his welcome waning and he dismissed himself back to their bedroom, where he knew Harry would still be sleeping. 

“It’s not going to come to that, Draco.” He didn’t argue, though, because he heard those words for what they really were—a reassurance. Not for him, though, because he’d accepted his fate. For her. To give her some comfort in the face of killing a teenager who was her own student. Her ward, even, now that he thought about it. 

“Thank you.” He felt drained, after that, and when she didn’t make any more comments or look away from the fire Draco took that as dismissal. Down the hall, in their bedroom, Draco was relieved to find Harry’s form still asleep beneath the blankets. He slipped seamlessly back into place. Harry must have sensed him somehow unconsciously because before Draco could even pull the blanket all the way over himself he was engulfed in the Gryffindor’s arms. It didn’t scare him, though, because Harry felt like home. 

For the moment, at least, it seemed that Draco had managed a few more precious minutes with his lion. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it would last. But, at least now he could stretch it out and absorb every second, every moment, that he had left with Harry before the inevitable happened. He let himself nuzzle closer against the Gryffindor’s chest, and sighed. Draco had never been a very sentimental person, especially not when it came to soft, emotional topics like love or home, but he couldn’t help himself. Harry felt like home, even now. A den, he imagined, because both lions and dragons lived in dens. 

And Draco wanted to make every moment with his den—and his lion—last. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed/commented!! It really does mean the world to me <3 As usual, I don't own HP or any of the characters, just this story/plot!

Draco got panic attacks rather infrequently but, when they did happen, they were bad. No one but Harry was allowed near him in those moments because no one but Harry knew how to calm him down or ease the fear. Minnie had tried, once. In his panic, Draco had given her a black eye. She’d insisted it was not a big deal, and healed it immediately, but Draco still felt bad about it and became even more determined to isolate himself whenever it happened. 

Harry had to leave, though—just for a few hours, a day at most, he insisted. He was going before the Muggle courts to allow Minnie to take custody of him. It wasn’t supposed to be much of a scene. The Dursleys didn’t want custody of Harry in the first place, and they were glad to give it up—unlike Lucius, who Draco knew would fight tooth and nail to keep him as a legal dependent. Lucius, who was already threatening Minnie with kidnapping charges. Who, according to the small time papers they'd managed to smuggle through non magical channels, was amounting a massive team of private investigators and political fixers to deal with the situation. 

To deal with him.

But the Dursleys, as horrible as they were, wanted nothing to do with Harry once Minnie had assured them that the Potter family fortune had been spent on Harry’s schooling. They weren’t inclined to believe her, but she’d introduced herself in full, eccentric dress robes and they’d been too scared to argue. Instead, they’d simply signed whatever paperwork would get her out of their house the fastest.

Harry wasn’t even nervous about the hearing, or so he said, and Draco honestly wasn’t worried for him. He had absolutely zero faith in the Dursleys, but he trusted patterns. His lion always made a point of emphasizing how Slytherin that was of him, but it didn’t matter because he could tell the Gryffindor believed it too. They hadn’t ever wanted Harry, and they wouldn’t fight for him now. Besides, Minnie had become the ultimate protective mother figure and he trusted her to take care of his lion for a short while. 

But he  _ was  _ worried. It would be the first time he’d been without Harry since going into hiding and he was more than afraid he’d have a panic attack and forget where they were or what was going on. If that happened, he was sure he would go running back to his father’s feet, begging for forgiveness. Harry briefly suggested Hagrid or Dumbledore, but Minnie had refused both and insisted that there was only one person she trusted enough to take care of Draco while they were gone. Molly Weasley. 

She tutted in through the entryway, greeting Minnie and hugging Harry. She told them how proud she was and how happy she would be when the whole affair was just over and done with. Both smiled politely and agreed. As she puttered around the small kitchen and set out various food items which Draco assumed she was planning to cook with, Harry took him aside. 

“ _ I know you don’t trust her, little dragon.” _ Draco snorted because that was an understatement if he’d ever heard one. “ _ She loves me, though, just as much as her other sons and she knows how much I love you. She’s safe, even if you don’t feel like she is. I wouldn’t leave you with her if I thought for even a second she would do anything but love you, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”  _ Draco nodded, but he curled his hands into anxious fists at his sides and Harry noticed. Slowly, the brunet took each fist in his own and smoothed them flat, forcing the muscles to relax until Draco just sighed.

“ _ What if it happens? _ ” He didn’t have to say what  _ it _ was because Harry knew how terrified he was of panicking in front of other people. And yet, he was even more afraid of panicking alone. Briefly, Harry glanced behind him to check if Minnie and Mrs. Weasley were paying attention—which they weren’t. He pulled Draco into a quick, gentle kiss.

“ _ I know this is new for you, little dragon, it was new for me too. But she will take care of you. She’ll protect you while I’m gone and I promise you it’ll be okay. You trust me, right?” _ Draco nodded, but the warm fingers tracing patterns on his cheek were more distracting than the fear. Honestly, he just wanted Harry to stay. Screw the Muggles and their custody laws he just wanted Harry to stay here, with him, where they were both safe and where Draco could still lean on him if things got bad. 

_ “I trust you lion _ .” He did, which was the only thing that let his arms not cinch impossibly tight around Harry’s midsection in an attempt to keep him there. Harry kissed his forehead with a little smile. Before he even realized, Harry had hugged him goodbye and left with Minnie. In a Muggle car, of all things. But rather than let himself worry about his lion and all the things that could possibly go wrong, he focused on his own situation. 

“Draco, dear, do you like casserole?” He wanted to say no, or say he was allergic, just to be a pain in the ass but Harry’s voice talked him down.

“Never had it.” That wasn’t a lie, either, because he’d never had anything but the most decadent meals at home—or no food at all—and Hogwarts never served casserole. Mrs. Weasley just smiled at him, though, and motioned towards the counter.

“Here, I’ll show you how to chop up the carrots into little squares.” Draco was not at all interested in learning how to chop carrots but he couldn’t deny that she was a stranger and he was slightly afraid of her now that Harry was gone. So, begrudgingly, he grabbed a knife and approached the counter. She showed him how to do it right. It took a very long time because Draco had never even cut carrots normally, let alone into fucking cubes—which was just unnecessary, he was convinced—but Molly Weasley never once lost patience with him. Not once. 

She didn’t push him or interrogate him either, even when he tried to give her little openings to. He’d start a sentence and trail off but she just let him, for some reason, and didn’t even make a comment under her breath about mumbling or being impolite. Draco didn’t really know what to do with that. Even with Minnie, he still put himself on guard because adults seemed to quickly get a no-nonsense vibe from him and be blunt. They treated him like an adult because he acted like an adult. He had the dark, sallow eyes and the tight, pinched expression that reeked of trauma and pain and age—he acted like an old war veteran, so they treated him like one. But Molly refused to do that, and even went so far as to change his bedsheets for him. 

But she wasn’t condescending, either. She never once made him feel stupid for not knowing how to do something and he figured that he owed her the same. He didn’t laugh or jeer when she didn’t know how to work the Muggle oven. Truth be told, he still wasn’t completely sure because Harry never let him near the damn thing but, even when he told her that, she just laughed and said they’d figure it out together. Draco had never heard those words in his life, and especially not in response to his own shortcomings. 

Molly made some casual effort at small talk. She asked him about his favorite foods, about his classes, and about his favorite hobbies. When he said he liked Quidditch, it was like a light went on in her face and she happily told him all about Fred and George, the Gryffindor beaters, and about Harry and Ron. It managed to shock him—not how much she could talk, but how proud she seemed. Harry wasn’t even her son and she practically glowed whenever she talked about him and his various accomplishments. She didn’t talk about his death-defying heroics, though. Instead, she talked about Quidditch and about grades and how she was so proud that Harry had managed to keep in touch despite being so busy. It was… strange. 

Draco wasn’t really sure what to do with that information other than just nod along, but she didn't seem to mind. Molly had a rather frazzled, but rather disarming way of just talking to him. Like she didn’t expect him to respond or even care, but she still wanted to talk to him because they were both there. It was really nice, actually, and it let him relax a bit. But not talking about the trial or about Harry or any of the stories he was sure she had to have heard was wearing on him. Finally, he just snapped.

“Harry trusts you.” Molly stopped, mid-explanation of how she was going to cook the beef and potatoes at the same time, and just turned to him. Draco knew this was it, this was when she would turn into some kind of veela creature and destroy him. But she just offered him an apple slice.

“I’m glad to hear it, dear.” She seemed prepared to leave it at that, but Draco wasn’t. He didn’t know what to do with the dears and the sweethearts and the patience and it was honestly putting him on edge. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” She offered him another apple slice but he didn’t take this one, given that the first was still in his hand uneaten. Not even a hint of anger flashed across her face, though. Unperturbed, she just ate it herself and went back to stirring whatever was in her bowl. 

“Because your father may have been cruel to us, but you weren’t.”

“I bullied Ron.” He was on a roll, determined to make her angry with him if it was the last thing he did, but she simply shrugged.

“Yes, but you protected Harry when none of us could.” Draco stopped dead where he was standing, letting the knife clatter to the counter and the carrots go ignored as he stared at her. It wasn’t dignified to stare, but she just stared right back. He felt like he was in some kind of alternative timeline because he could have sworn he’d just heard a hint of gratitude in her voice. 

“That matters to you?” Molly scoffed and continued to bustle around the kitchen. She was immune, it seemed, to Draco’s sudden shock and was much more concerned with her casserole than with how his face was currently contorting. 

“Of course it matters to me! Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure if any of us had had any clue of what those Muggles were doing to him all this time, someone would be going to Azkaban. Charlie practically rode in on a dragon when we told him. They all know you, of course, and Ronald was never your biggest fan but we all love Harry and what you did for him? It doesn’t cancel out, of course, but it means something.” 

Draco felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. He’d never thought anyone would ever know about his and Harry’s relationship, let alone the Weasleys, but here Molly was telling him that he was on the path to redemption. Simply by protecting his lion. He wanted to cry, suddenly, because he was overwhelmed by the realization that this was real. The mother of the boy he’d hated and tormented since they were eleven years old, telling him that his actions meant something. That maybe, someday, he could mean something too. 

“You’d better not be crying on my carrots, dear. If you add the salt too soon they don’t turn out right, you know.” But Draco could only laugh. He hadn’t even realized tears were starting down his cheeks and he hurriedly wiped them away and went back to chopping. It was with a smile, though, because he’d cried in front of Molly Weasley. And he hadn’t panicked. 

“Hey we’re home!” Draco felt more than heard Harry’s presence behind him but didn’t stop chopping carrots. Molly hugged both Harry and Minnie before returning to her cooking, but Harry stepped up behind him again and wrapped his arms around his waist. Normally, Harry was reserved about physical contact in front of people. Minnie had become a safe person, though they still avoided anything but platonic touching, but with Molly here Draco had assumed it was off the table. Not so, apparently, because Harry kissed the back of his neck.

“Whatcha makin’?” The English was intentional, because Minnie didn’t like it when she couldn’t understand what they were saying, but Draco didn’t mind. He smiled and offered Harry a piece of carrot. 

“It’s called casserole. Ever heard of it?” Harry accepted the carrot cube—it was one of the imperfect ones, so Draco didn’t sweat the loss—and hummed in some kind of positive sentiment. 

“Mmm Mrs. Weasley’s casseroles are to die for!” Molly laughed and threw a piece of celery at them, but accepted the compliment. She also told them both to call her Molly, but Harry seemed pretty dead set on not following that rule so Draco did his best to follow suit. He could guess that Molly was too close to mom, and Harry was afraid of slipping. 

“How was the trial, Minerva?” Minnie answered, giving some basic summary of it went well but then going into details. Draco, however, was distracted from listening by the lips on his neck. He tried desperately to ignore the warmth that flooded all over his body at the sheer proximity to Harry but he couldn’t help it—and Harry knew that. The brunet smiled against his skin and took another carrot cube.

“ _ How did it go, little dragon? You seem alright. _ ” Draco couldn’t hold back a smile, which only seemed to relax Harry even more. Clearly, the brunet had been worried about him rather than himself and, though Draco rolled his eyes, it was still a nice feeling. 

“ _ I’m… good. I’m good, actually. How was the trial, my lion? _ ” Harry chuckled against his shoulder but didn’t let him go. Draco knew by now that it wasn’t because he was worried, but because he’d been so anxious before that now Harry just needed something to hold onto. Some concrete sort of proof that Draco was alright. He never minded, though, and merely wiggled back into the embrace. 

“ _ It went well. No problems. The judge didn’t like the fact that Minnie wasn’t related to me on the same side of the family but he went with it. You’re okay, though? Truly? _ ” Molly and Minnie were deep in conversation at the kitchen table, now, no doubt discussing Muggles and their strange law procedures, but Draco didn’t really care to listen. He just wanted to check that they weren’t paying attention. Quickly, he turned in Harry’s arms. With a quick, barely-there kiss he pulled his lion into a tight hug and finally let himself relax. 

“ _ I’m good, I promise lion. She really loves you. _ ” Their hissing had become obvious, now, and drawn the attention of the two women. Minnie was used to their secret conversations and had actually been getting rather good at reading their body language and tone rather than words, but Molly looked slightly shocked. She’d probably never heard Parseltongue, Draco realized. Quickly, he switched back to English in an effort to make her more comfortable. 

“Sorry, we were just catching up.” Molly gave him a little nod, but there was a smile hidden in there that Draco caught. “When do I add the carrots?”

“What do you..? Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Molly shot up, evidently displeased that the carrots had not already been added, and began bustling to fix whatever had happened. She’d forgotten to tell him to add the carrots, apparently. Her voice managed to rise an octave or so as she fretted and attempted to add the carrots in again but, when she reached for a wooden spoon, Draco recoiled. Just for a second, pure terror flooded through him and he was sure it was a wand. He braced for the cruciatus curse, but nothing happened. Why had nothing happened? 

Confused, Draco finally looked up to see Molly quickly mixing small carrot cubes into a layer of the casserole. She looked flustered, but not angry. He’d messed up, though, and he didn’t understand why she wasn’t getting her wand out or yelling at him. Harry, though, must have recognized the look on his face. Quickly, he snaked an arm around the blond’s waist and placed himself between Draco and the commotion. Instantly, it was like a spell had been cast. 

“ _ Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay she isn’t angry and she won’t hurt you. I’ve got you, little dragon. _ ” He nodded, burying his face in Harry’s chest, but thankfully Minnie knew them well enough by now to know their routine. She could tell that Harry was shielding him and moved to distract Molly. 

“Here, let me help you with that. Muggle things can be hard to get used to.” While they were distracted, Harry took the opening to lead him into the living room where they were alone. Draco had to resist the urge to just collapse completely. But, Harry tangled a hand in his hair and suddenly Draco felt steady again. It was miraculous. 

“ _ We’re gonna be okay, little dragon. I promise you _ .” Draco nodded, but he couldn’t stop his mind from churning over that sentence. They were not going to be okay. Harry would be, he hoped, because Minnie had made him a vow and he knew she would protect him. But as for Draco? Lucius was closing in on them by the second, he was sure, and would fall onto them like a vulture on its last meal. He’d seen his father be cruel, and he knew what was coming. 

“ _ Hey, I love you little dragon. _ ” But, just for those precious few moments, Draco let himself forget. Fuck his father, fuck all the Ministry rules and regulations and every person who had ever sided with Lucius Malfoy in life. For the moment, he had his lion. Just for a moment—and he was sure it would only be a moment, at most—there was no sadness or fear. He was content. 

“ _ I love you too, Lion. _ ” Draco now knew the Muggle word for what he and Harry both struggled with on a daily basis. They called it depression, though Draco didn’t understand why. Harry had been seeing a Muggle counselor and was doing incredibly well, given everything that had happened. Draco, however, barely trusted Harry and was not about to see a counselor or therapist. Not yet, at least, he told Harry. For him, it was enough to just stay in hiding and have his lion with him. 

He wasn’t cured, of course, but ever since he’d started working with Harry he’d been having more good moments than he’d had in his entire life. Before, his life had been like a sheet of stained piece of parchment—so drenched in ink that it seemed to bleed darkness itself, and it smeared that suffocating color onto everything it touched. Now, though, there were bright spots. It’d been just a few, at first, but Draco could now say with absolute certainty that he’d had more good days than bad in the last few weeks. It felt surreal, but it was true. 

“ _ You think the casserole is ready yet? _ ” Draco laughed, and kissed Harry one last time before leading them back into the kitchen. Almost all of those good days had been because of Harry. Because his lion was there to hold his hand through things that were too hard and to pick him up when he fell, but also because Harry was there to teach him. He’d done more things for himself in the last month than he had in his entire life and it felt empowering, honestly. He was making his own good days. Or, at least that was what Harry kept telling him. And, in the meantime, Draco didn’t really mind falling back on his lion to give him a reason to smile every now and then. It was a process. That was what everyone said and Draco was starting to believe it. 

“ _ Stupid Gryffindor appetite. _ ” Harry snorted, though, as they rejoined the women and began serving up portions of casserole. 

“ _ You’re just bitter because that hunger is for casserole and not you. _ ” Draco felt his jaw drop, but Harry just laughed at him and passed him his plate of potatoes. There was no way. Harry had not just said that—Draco was hallucinating, that was it, right? Those emerald green rings danced over him, though, and Harry smirked in a way that said he’d meant that exactly how he’d said it and didn’t plan on taking it back. Draco could only gape at him. 

“ _ Shut your mouth, little dragon, or you’ll start catching flies. _ ” He almost dropped his plate.

“ _ Shut  _ **_your_ ** _ mouth, little lion, or you’ll be swallowing my dick next. _ ” Harry choked and spat out his bite of casserole but Draco just smirked and sipped his water. The blush that was starting to creep up Harry’s face was delicious. Minnie and Molly looked cautiously between them, obviously not sure what was going on, but he’d succeeded in making Harry turn bright red so he didn’t mind the staring. 

“ _ Don’t make empty promises, little dragon. _ ” Even if he was blushing, Harry managed to make his voice sound firm and damn near authoritative in a way Draco was not prepared for. It was his turn to choke, and Harry just smirked. He couldn’t leave it at that, though, because Harry looked far too smug and far too proud of himself.

“ _ Who said it was empty? _ ”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm sorry in advance that this is so short... Enjoy though! I don't own HP or any of the characters.

Harry had slowly gotten used to the feeling of Draco sharing his bed. It’d been weird, at first, because he’d never shared a bed with anyone before but he’d grown to like it. He liked opening his eyes and seeing pale skin or silver eyes. Sometimes, though, he felt the solidness of Draco’s body against his chest and he had to remind himself that it wasn’t a wall—that he wasn’t back under the stairs, that Vernon wasn’t coming to unlock his door. 

They’d been talking a lot about their families lately. With Minnie as their new constant, and Molly Weasley as their frequent visitor, it was hard not to think about family and the ideas behind it. Harry was so unbelievably grateful for anyone and everyone who had ever taken him in. Draco, however, was less so. The Slytherin struggled with a constant guilt complex, with the weighty idea that he was a burden or an inconvenience, and absolutely loathed letting anyone other than Harry take care of him. It always felt like a debt, he’d said. 

Harry had made it his personal mission to take care of his little dragon in every possible way. Thankfully, Minnie had been  _ more  _ than open minded about their relationship and had let them share a bedroom in their muggle apartment. Molly had paused a bit when Harry had embraced or kissed the blond, but otherwise seemed accepting. Ron and Hermione were dying to know what was going on or why Harry and Draco had suddenly disappeared from Hogwarts but any details were considered confidential and Minnie only told them that they were safe. That was enough, though. 

Taking care of Draco was no small thing, but Harry was also very good at it. They’d spent enough time together and survived enough hardships together that Harry was fairly good at reading the blond and could intervene before anything bad happened. Nightmares were still an issue, but they both struggled with that and they helped each other. The part that Harry was the most worried about, though, was the issue surrounding Lucius Malfoy and their further actions. Draco had always had a sense of dread about the issue. He spoke as if his father might show up any moment now and he’d given Harry tearful descriptions of what he was sure the man would do to them. 

Harry was not particularly scared of Lucius. True, the man was a Death Eater and a powerful wizard but Harry had no shortage of experience in that area so he wasn’t worried. Minnie had made it clear that she, along with many others, had their backs. And yet, Harry’s main concern was not the revenge that he so desperately wanted, or the death he wished upon the man who had dared to hurt his little dragon. It was whatever Draco needed. 

“ _ You’re anxious _ .” In his arms, the blond shuffled a bit but merely nodded. “ _ Your father? _ ” Another silent nod. They’d spent hours going over every possible outcome or solution, brainstorming custody hearings and court trials, but Draco had never agreed to any of them. He knew how scared the Slytherin was, but he also knew it was eating at him. This entire catastrophe had to come to an end somehow, before it destroyed them both from the inside out, the only question was how.

“ _ What do you need? _ ” He’d tried asking that question, before, of course. Draco usually dodged it or, at the very least, admitted that he had no idea what he needed. Now, though, Harry tried to make his voice a little more firm. 

“ _ You know I don’t know. _ ” But that was bullshit and Harry knew that very well. Even if he didn’t know what to do, he knew Draco and he could tell when his little dragon was lying to him.

“ _ Don’t lie. _ ”  _ To me _ , was unspoken. Draco still shuddered a bit against him at the command, forcing Harry to physically restrain himself from kissing the blond. 

“ _ Sorry Lion. _ ” He just shook his head and buried his face back into Draco’s hair. 

“ _ What do you need from this, little dragon? Do you want to disappear? Do you want to go to trial? Do you want to take him down, or watch him burn? What do you need to be okay again? _ ” Harry stopped, expecting the customary  _ just you, lion _ but Draco was evidently thinking over the issue. Was it possible he was actually going to get an answer?

“ _ I want him dead. _ ” At that, Harry didn’t let himself tense. It was clear that Draco was just waiting for rejection and he was not going to give that fear any sort of indicator that he was even surprised. He was, though, because Draco had never expressed even a hint of desire for revenge. 

“ _ Why? _ ” The Gryffindor had a hard time believing that Draco had just suddenly snapped, or that his little dragon even wanted revenge in the first place. Did he think that was what he was supposed to say? In his arms, the blond shuddered.

“ _ Because that’s the only way I know you’ll be safe. _ ” Harry hummed and stroked his hand up and down that pale chest, trying to comfort the blond. That made more sense. He could understand the desire to protect and he knew that Draco was fiercely protective, even if he was more subtle about it. They’d been arguing about Lucius being a threat for what felt like months now. 

“ _ Okay.” _ Harry was not going to judge. His job was to protect and take care of his little dragon, no matter what that entailed. He would go to hell and back before he refused something that Draco needed—even if it seemed wrong or unconventional. 

“ _ I want to be the one who kills him. The only way he can’t come back from. _ ” Of course Harry knew what he meant. That didn’t stop his body from stiffening, though, just for a split second at the thought of Draco casting an unforgivable curse. This was dark magic. The kind of dark that took a piece of your soul when you performed it, the kind of dark that could potentially hurt his dragon.

“ _ Little dragon… _ ” But Draco was set. Apparently, by asking, Harry had sparked this thought in his mind and it was now the only way out that the blond could see. Honestly, it was the only way out anyone could see. Minnie still advocated for a trial, but Draco insisted it wouldn’t work. His father was too rich, too powerful, too corrupt to ever fall victim in a court of law and Harry was inclined to believe him. 

“ _ You’re sure this is what will help? _ ” Draco nodded, shrinking a bit back into his warmth. “ _ Okay. I’ll start planning. _ ”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do not own HP or any of the characters! Please be kind and thank you to everyone who has commented!!

When they returned to Hogwarts, the first thing Draco felt were the eyes. They were glued onto his skin, his every move, his every breath—and not in a good way. His reception from Slytherin was cold, unfeeling, and ruthless. No doubt they’d gotten word from home that he’d done something awful or betrayed someone somehow, though Draco couldn’t really bring himself to care. He’d always known that Slytherin was the kind of house you were either in or you weren’t. Now, he clearly wasn’t. 

Dumbledore was under review, leaving McGonagall as acting Headmistress of the school—no doubt everyone thought he’d had something to do with that, too. No matter what he did, he got glares from every table in the Great Hall. Especially Snape. Had his godfather been updating Lucius this entire time? Honestly, Draco wouldn’t have been surprised because he knew that Snape’s loyalty ran deep—but it wasn’t to his godson. 

“ _ Hey, let’s just keep moving. _ ” Harry coaxed him, gently, towards the Gryffindor table but didn’t touch him. Maybe he was letting Draco decide how much he wanted to reveal to the school? It wouldn’t matter, though, because they’d talked to Minnie and arranged to share their own, private dormitory that connected to her quarters. The whole school would be buzzing about that before long, so Draco threw caution to the wind and grabbed his lion’s hand.

“ _ Control your weasel, at least _ .” He felt Harry snicker more than he heard it, but then they were sitting at the Gryffindor table in Harry’s usual spot and the entire Great Hall had gone silent, staring at them in shock. Fuck. Draco hated the feeling of so many eyes on him and he just knew that everything was being reported back to his father as he sat there. Would it be enough?

“Uh… Harry?” Hermione glanced doubtfully between them, but her eyes landed on their hands. “We’re thrilled that you’re back, of course, but what’s he doing here?” If anything, Hermione had at least been nice about it. His chest seized, still, and he felt Harry’s hand tighten on his own as if daring him to try to stand and go back to the Slytherin table, but Draco stayed motionless. The Slytherin table would be even worse, for sure, and Draco wasn’t exactly eager to battle it out with Blaise yet. Why was Hermione being nice to him, though?

“Oi! Earth to Harry!” Jolting, Draco realized that the Gryffindor had been staring off into space as well and was now being called back not-so-politely by the Weasel. “What the fuck is  _ he  _ doing here?!” Again, Harry’s hand tightened, but those emerald eyes remained shockingly calm. Impressive. If Blaise or Pansy had talked about Harry that way in front of Draco, he would have hexed them whether they knew the full story or not. 

“Draco will be joining us for dinner from now on. Anyone who has a problem with that can speak with me in private.” Harry’s voice was the harshest Draco had ever heard directed at his ‘friends’. Hermione paled, while the Weasel began to turn an ugly shade of purple, but Harry merely turned back to him. 

“ _ Pass me the pumpkin juice? _ ” Draco did, without even blinking, and only paused when he felt everyone gawking at him. They’d gotten so used to dinners with Minnie… Neither of them had even noticed Harry’s slip back into Parseltongue because for almost two months now Minnie had let them switch freely between the two languages without commenting. 

“Hey Harry, I don’t want to intrude but… Quick question?” It was another Gryffindor—Seamus or Dean, Draco could never keep them straight—but Harry didn’t have time to respond before he was talking again. “Was just wondering… What the bloody hell is  _ Malfoy _ doing here!?” Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco immediately felt the anger from his lion surge through where their palms met. Fucking Gryffindor temper. He squeezed, and cut in before Harry could retort.

“I used the Imperius curse on him, you wanna be next leprechaun?” It was a lie. Anyone with eyes could see that both Harry and Draco were there willingly, but it was enough to get the other Gryffindors to back off. Thank Merlin, Draco couldn’t help thinking, and he squeezed the hand in his again.

“ _ You’ve got to watch your temper. _ ” He kept his voice low, so that only the closest Gryffindors could hear him hiss, but Harry immediately tensed.

“ _ Why, little dragon? _ ” Their eyes met and, just for a second, their communication wasn’t verbal. Doubt and apprehension wriggled in his chest, but Harry merely looked right back at him and somehow managed to steady him again. Like always, of course, Harry calmed him down. 

“ _ Think it’ll be enough? _ ” Harry merely shrugged. Food appeared on the empty trays and plates, causing a temporary rush for sustenance that managed to distract a majority of the Great Hall. Wordlessly, they both let go and merely pressed their legs against each other under the table. They didn’t need to hold hands, of course, and Harry had only done it because he knew Draco would be anxious, but they were not going to give up other forms of contact. Just something small, as a reassurance. 

Everyone stared at them, even as whispers circulated and even as McGonagall addressed the room. Draco felt the eyes, but focused on the warmth of Harry’s leg against his own. Deep breaths, in and out, he coaxed himself through an entire serving of roasted turkey before something disturbed the peace. Remarkably, the Gryffindor table—or, at least, those nearest to them, including the Weasel and Hermione—had fallen completely silent. They seemed shellshocked, and Draco wasn’t very saddened by their lack of interrogating. Better silence than yelling, he thought. But, of course, they had to slip up again at some point and, when they did, Ron was there to catch it. 

“You aren’t even going to give Harry any tart, Ferret?” Draco stilled, his hands already passing the serving dish over Harry and to one of the nameless Gryffindors. Harry’s hand gripped his thigh, but Draco shrugged it off. He turned his eyes onto the redhead. 

“Why would I, Weasel? He’s allergic to raspberries, unless you prefer to see him die?” The Weasel gaped at him, but Hermione turned to Harry with nothing short of curiosity in her face.

“Is that true?” Harry nodded, glancing down at the table in shame, but Draco quickly ran a hand up his thigh and made him blush for a different reason. Still staring at the Weasel, Draco passed the tray to the next Gryffindor down the row. 

“ _ Snape’s coming five o’clock. _ ” Before the words even registered, Draco knew something was wrong. He felt Harry’s leg tense under his palm and he heard his lion shift in place, as if trying to shield him from the coming attack. Deep breath. With one last squeeze, Draco returned his hand to the table and squared his shoulders.

“Mr. Malfoy.”  _ Smile, that’ll piss him off _ . Harry’s voice rang in his head and, just for a second, Draco took the time to marvel at how well he knew his lion now. He heard Harry’s voice guiding him the way most people heard their mother’s, and it had yet to steer him wrong. That voice had become like his conscience over the last year or so. Now, it was more like a friend. Turning his head, he flashed Snape a sickly sweet little smile. 

“Professor.” All at once, Draco felt Harry’s hand seize on his leg, just above his knee, and he almost shrieked in surprise. Quickly, he grabbed at the hand and forced it looser, though Harry seemed grudging. Too bad, because Draco preferred to have circulation in his limbs. 

“Report to my office after dinner.  _ Alone _ .” Snape gave a pointed look at Harry that made his skin crawl, but he focused on the hand squeezing his and kept his composure. One of them had to, for Merlin’s sake. 

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The entire Great Hall had gone deathly silent, and Draco risked a glance at Hermione to judge how bad this was. She looked terrified. Snape looked like he was milliseconds away from punching Draco square in the jaw, though he knew that his godfather wouldn’t do it here with so many eyes on them.

“Draco...” It was a threat, clearly, but Draco kept his spine straight. 

“Severus...” Gasps rang through the hall. Clearly, some students were unaware of his relationship with Snape and thought he had just signed his death sentence. He had, given Snape’s face, but for other reasons. 

“My office.  _ Now. _ ” The growl Snape gave made all of Gryffindor cower, but Draco felt Harry’s muscles beginning to coil and knew he had to end this fast. Before a full blown fight broke out, at least. 

“No.” That one, single syllable ricocheted through the room like a bullet. “I’m not sure if you got the memo, but I don’t go anywhere now without Harry or Min- Professor McGonagall.” Snape’s beady little eyes clearly said he had not missed Draco’s slip, but the rest of the Great Hall seemed to have lost it in the commotion, thankfully. The last thing he needed was to call McGonagall ‘Minnie’ in front of the whole school. 

“ _ Let me hex him, Little Dragon _ .” Of course the hiss immediately caused an uproar. Harry could have been asking for the last cinnamon roll for all they knew, but the entire room burst into whispers of Imperius commands and death threats. Well, the second one wasn’t that far off…

“Calm down, Harry,” The English was deliberate, but still felt forced. “Professor Snape wouldn’t do anything too rash in such a public setting. Would you, Sevvy?” Snape recoiled at the petname and sneered. Draco hadn’t called him that since he was a child, and he remembered very clearly the reaction he’d gotten even back then. He’d used it now just to see that familiar flare of anger. 

“Severus, I do believe that is enough.” Minnie, thank Merlin, had made her way over to them and dismissed Snape with a severe glare. Harry relaxed the second the man was out of sight, but Draco still felt nauseous. She addressed the entire Great Hall and ordered them to return to their dormitories for meetings with their heads of houses, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder like some kind of protective angel. Slowly, the hall began to empty. Draco thanked everyone and everything he could think of that Minnie knew them. She knew to only touch Harry, and to speak to both of them rather than to just Draco, but she also knew to put herself between them and the rest of the school. Thank Merlin. 

“ _ She’s gonna ask what all that was about, lion. _ ” Beside him, Harry hummed in acknowledgement and continued to watch the hall empty. Minnie was standing behind them still, undoubtedly very aware of their hissing, but thankfully didn’t say a word while other students were still within earshot. 

“ _ And we’ll tell her, exactly like we planned little dragon. _ ” The second the hall was empty, Minnie crossed her arms and gave them what Harry liked to call the look of Gryffindor shame. She tapped her foot twice, and then huffed towards the door again.

“Downstairs in five minutes, boys. I expect an explanation, so you best agree on a story before I get there.” 

* * *

“And it won’t happen again, I trust?” Draco glanced instinctively at Harry, because he still balked at the idea of lying directly to Minnie’s face, but thankfully his lion stepped in.

“Oh, no. Of course not, Minnie, we would never dream of purposefully upsetting Professor Snape.” Minnie gave them both a reproachful look, but ultimately seemed to decide that it was better to pick her battles. She stepped back into the private corridor connecting their room to hers. Well, it was more like their chambers, as much as Draco hated to admit it, because their sitting room connected with Minnie’s and their bedrooms branched off respectively. It mirrored their old Muggle apartment rather well, while still giving them privacy. 

“ _ Think she bought that? _ ” Harry snorted, and began stoking the fire in front of them. The little Muggle ways that Harry still did things like stoke the fire or extinguish a candle always made Draco smile, for some reason. He liked the physicality of it, and he liked to watch. It was like seeing Harry before all the pain and drama and fame had leached into his features, like seeing what he would have been like if his Muggleborn mother had raised him. 

“ _ Bought it? Not a chance. But I think she realized we were beyond being talked out of it, at least, so that’s something. _ ” Draco just nodded. He hated making Minnie upset, even if it was unavoidable, because he still had that instinctive fear around her and still flinched from her voice. It wasn’t her fault, or his, and they’d discussed it at length with Harry’s help, but still… It made him uncomfortable regardless. 

“ _ You doing alright, little dragon? _ ” The petname managed to rouse his eyes from the fire, but Harry just settled into place beside him. Immediately, that familiar warmth seeped into him through their robes.

“ _ I believe I asked you a question, little dragon… _ ” But Harry’s tone was light and teasing so Draco didn’t bother pretending to be offended. Instead, he just squirmed his way into his lion’s lap.

“ _ I’m alright. That was just a lot, is all _ .” Harry nodded, and Draco could imagine that he also felt the strain of going from two months with the same three people to an entire school full of strangers. Or, at least, they felt like strangers now. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d gotten into the horse drawn carriage with Minnie, excited and ready to return to school just to get it over with. Suddenly, the image of Weasley’s purple face flew into his mind.

“ _ Did you tell the other two thirds of your trio that you weren’t going to be living with them anymore? _ ” A warning hand skirted down his side, tracing over his ribs, but Draco knew he wasn’t actually upset so he didn’t apologize. He kissed at his lion’s throat, and waited for his answer.

“ _ No, didn’t have time. Did you? _ ” Draco full on belly laughed at that.

“ _ Yeah, because clearly I’m the long lost, beloved Slytherin hero returning to my ranks. You saw the reception I got, I haven’t told them shit. _ ” Harry just nodded, but Draco felt a bit of sympathy from his lion in the hand that curled in his hair. It didn’t matter, though, in the long run. As long as he had Harry he didn’t care what Blaise or Pansy or any of the others did and, as soon as their plan was finished, then he could fully ignore them. Or, at least, that was the hope. 

“ _ It wasn’t enough. _ ” Draco sighed, but nodded nevertheless because he knew it was true, even if he didn’t like it. “ _ We’ve got to go bigger tomorrow. _ ” Again, Draco nodded. 

“ _ Minnie won’t be happy with us. _ ” Harry shrugged, wrapping an arm unconsciously around Draco’s shoulders. It was nice, he decided, the way Harry didn’t even have to think to protect him from things like the idea of upsetting Minnie. They’d come a long way from those first year fist fights in the hallways. 

“ _ No, but she loves us. She’ll understand eventually, once we can explain. _ ” Draco wiggled closer as he felt the heat of the fire become too intense on his skin, but Harry flicked his wand and calmed the flames. He didn’t like the idea of upsetting Minnie, especially after everything she’d done for them. But, he liked the idea of her not knowing what was going on even less because, if anything, he needed to trust that he could fall back on their vow. One way or another, it would all be over soon enough.

“ _ What? No Gryffindor little quip about how you promise to take all the blame? _ ” Harry laughed, though, and for once seemed immune to Draco’s inner turmoil which was a nice surprise. 

“ _ Oh, shut up. I don’t think either of us have recovered from the last time you sassed me and we don’t have time for that tonight, not with classes tomorrow. Besides, if we get caught or something you’re going down with me, little dragon. _ ” Laughing, Harry dragged them both down onto the rug and pinned him, though Draco wasn’t actually fighting. Quick, nimble seeker’s hands dove at his sides and tickled until he was crying with laughter, but he only managed to stop Harry with a kiss. 

“ _ That was sneaky, lion _ .” He laughed, landing a few tickles of his own before Harry pinned him again.

“ _ Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, my sweet Slytherin prince. _ ” They both crinkled their noses, but the humor faded into exhaustion as they lay on the fluffy rug. 

“ _ We’re going to have to go bigger tomorrow. _ ” Harry nodded, though neither of them had really decided what ‘bigger’ actually meant, yet. A fight with Weasel or Hermione wouldn’t work. Neither would any of the other Gryffindors, even if they were easy to provoke. If Draco started a fight within his own house, maybe… But it was unlikely that that would accomplish much other than making his situation worse. There was one thing he could think of, though, and he nuzzled the hollow of Harry’s throat as he steeled himself to say it.

“ _ It has to be personal. Snape is the only one who can, or will, call him and it has to make him emotional. Our relationship puts him on edge, but it has to be more. I was thinking I could destroy an heirloom or something _ .” Beneath him, Harry went still and the hand in his hair tightened. 

“ _ Are you sure? _ ” Draco wasn’t particularly eager to destroy something that was potentially valuable, or to isolate his mother so quickly, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“ _ It would be enough, though, I think. You’re still okay going through with this? _ ” Wordlessly, Harry nodded. “ _ It’s settled, then. Tomorrow at dinner, I’ll make a scene and destroy something that Snape and my father would care about. If that doesn’t work, then I don’t know what will. _ ”

“ _ Tomorrow at dinner, _ ” Harry repeated, running his hand absentmindedly through Draco’s hair. “ _ As for tonight, though… _ ” With another triumphant little laugh, Harry threw Draco over his shoulder and carried him off into their bedroom to hopefully get some semblance of sleep before classes started again tomorrow. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own HP or any of the characters! Longer (ish) chapter and warnings for PTSD flashback/panic attack.

When Harry woke up, it was with a jolt. He didn’t know this bed, he wasn’t alone, and, for a split second, he had the horrible image of Dudley lying beside him. Immediately, two very pale and very cold hands were smoothing over his shoulders.

“ _ Hey, you’re okay, Lion. It’s just me. We’re at Hogwarts, remember? _ ” Harry did not remember, at least not at first, but he knew that voice and that language so he hissed against the cold and curled into Draco’s chest. Merlin he was freezing! It was almost enough to make him recoil, but then Draco was laughing and the movement reverberated up into his lungs until it felt like he was laughing too and he could breathe again.

“ _ Sorry _ ...” But Draco shook his head and just tangled those fingers in his hair. “ _ What are you doing up so early, little dragon? _ ” Instantly, the petname made Draco smaller. Harry would have been lying if he said he didn’t love the way Draco shrank, sinking into his chest as if he was trying to disappear into Harry’s pajamas. He loved it because it wasn’t fearful, though, and because he knew how much trust it took for Draco to let him see him like that. 

“ _ Couldn’t sleep is all. _ ” His face twisted into a frown, concerned. Were the nightmares getting bad again? The thought made his gut churn and yet he wouldn’t have been surprised if they were. Before he could question Draco, though, there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” He paled, before realizing they were both fully dressed still. Draco sat up but made no move to scoot back to his side of the bed as Minnie cautiously stepped into the room. 

“You boys manage to get some sleep?” For a moment, it wasn’t the head of Gryffindor or their headmistress who was looking at them. She was annoyed still from their antics at dinner the night before—and Harry had no doubt she would still give them the cold shoulder upstairs—but down here she was their guardian and her eyes were full of concern. Not curiosity or intrigue, just a maternal kind of worry. Harry hadn’t really taken the time to look at her since they’d come back to Hogwarts but she looked better—happier, even—and he felt a pang of guilt for having kept her in that muggle apartment with them for so long. He smiled, and pride surged in his chest when he saw Draco do the same. It’d been difficult for him to trust Minnie, at first, and he still wasn’t completely comfortable on a casual level but he’d been working on it and it showed. 

“Yeah, we’re alright.” Minnie smiled at him, completely ignoring the fact that Draco hadn’t answered her. It was nice, honestly, that she was used to them. She didn’t expect the Slytherin to make eye contact or answer her questions and she knew enough to always address Harry. His dragon didn’t stiffen as much anymore, or reach for his wand around her. Though it seemed like a small thing, the difference became glaringly obvious now that they were around other adults who were not afraid to push him. 

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, which one of you would like the honor of assuring me that you’ll be on your best behavior today?” Harry laughed, slipping a hand onto Draco’s leg in reassurance. The little gesture, telling his dragon that he didn’t expect him to answer or take that question, helped him relax. All three of them knew that their best behavior would not be showcased today and, though Minnie didn’t know why, Harry appreciated the fact that she hadn’t asked yet. 

“Of course we will, Minnie,” She gave him a frown, but it wasn’t actually angry. “ _ Time to get up, little dragon. Throw me some socks?” _

* * *

Draco steeled himself when he heard Hermione’s telltale voice coming towards them in the hallway, but she merely fell into step with a smile.

“Hey guys, you’ll never guess what Flitwick said about our NEWTs!” Harry very politely asked what, reminding her that they still had a long time before NEWTs, but Draco full on stared at the girl. He’d never had a conversation with her that hadn’t ended in violence, and he definitely had not been expecting her, of all people, to be the one who accepted him into the group. She met his eyes very carefully.

“Harry asked us to give you a chance, so that’s what I’m doing, Malfoy.”

“It’s Draco.” Hermione gave him a nod, but then immediately went back to explaining her conversation with Flitwick. Draco felt like he’d just been knocked off his broom. 

“ _ Close your mouth, little dragon _ .” He did, with a snap, but not before Hermione caught his eye again and gave him a knowing look. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought she’d understood them. They had Transfiguration that morning, thankfully, and Draco surprised himself when he realized he was actually looking forward to being around Minnie. She’d become a sort of silent comfort, too. 

Harry deliberately motioned Hermione towards Ron, though Draco knew that the two Gryffindor boys usually sat together, but he was grateful. Sitting next to his lion was the only comfort he was allowed, and he felt the eyes for the entire lesson. More and more, people grew braver. When he didn’t react—because Harry’s nails were digging very intentionally into his arm, usually—it gave the other houses confidence. They called him Potter’s bitch, and they hinted that his family had sold him into servitude. Some people said he’d lost a bet, and others suggested that Harry might have used some kind of potion or dark magic to get revenge, but Draco ignored them. For the most part, at least. 

They made it to lunch without anything going horribly wrong, but Draco knew that was only because they’d had classes with Hufflepuff all day. He didn’t go to Slytherin classes anymore, thank Merlin, and had managed alright with the Gryffindors because he had Harry at his side 24/7, but he knew what was coming. Potions—a double class—with Slytherin and Snape. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting any kind of real drama until that class, at the earliest, but he was sorely mistaken. 

“I bet they’re fucking.” Draco tensed, his eyes darting towards the Slytherin table where Blaise was grinning and gossiping loudly, but Harry caught his arm. 

“ _ Ignore it, little dragon, they’re not worth it. _ ” His lion was right, of course, even if it was infuriating to back down from something like that. He sat at the Gryffindor table and began serving up the mashed potatoes, pretending not to hear the whispers of  _ traitor _ and  _ Potter’s bitch _ over the din of general chatter.

“Wonder who’s on top?” Harry tensed, gripping his arm a little tighter, but Draco didn’t mind. They both needed the steadiness if they were going to last until dinner. Deep breaths. 

“Knowing Drake?” Blaise’s voice again, grating against Draco’s skin like a knife as he chuckled. “My bets are on Potter. Probably bends him over and fucks him whenever he feels like it—his own personal sex slave.” Draco already had his hand on his wand, ready to hex all of Slytherin in front of the entire great hall, but just then the goblet Blaise was holding shattered. The  _ metal _ goblet. Everyone recoiled, but there were no wands raised. It was Hermione who let her eyes fall beneath the table, to where Harry’s free hand was balled into a tight, angry fist. Wandless magic? Harry had always been strong, of course, but Draco hadn’t known he could do wandless magic. 

“ _ Ignore it, little lion, they’re not worth it. _ ” They were, clearly, but the joke managed to release a bit of the tension they were both holding. Slytherin would be even worse when they had Snape backing them up, Draco knew, and he was trying to brace his lion before it happened. Thankfully, Minnie noticed and stepped in. She addressed the entire great hall, and distracted the eyes long enough for Draco to breathe. He squeezed Harry’s hand, and managed to calm him down—not completely, but enough—in time for Potions. 

The second Snape laid eyes on them, Draco knew it would be bad. His godfather looked angrier than he’d ever seen him, and every little touch or hiss that they exchanged only provoked him further. 

“Pepperup Potion, today, and hopefully some of you will manage to be slightly less than incompetent. I’m not in the mood to deal with you two—Potter with Weasley, Malfoy with Granger.” Wordlessly, they separated. It ached in Draco’s gut but, thankfully, Hermione somehow seemed to have gotten on board and she managed to line them up so only an aisle was between them. He could still reach out for Harry, if he needed to. 

“ _ Hey, it’s okay. I’m still right here, little dragon, and Hermione won’t hurt you. _ ” Draco trusted that, given her sudden newfound support for him, but he still hated the distance. At least Snape hadn’t put him with a Slytherin… The Potions teacher probably remembered the infamous punching incident with Granger and assumed that she would make him more miserable than Blaise. 

“Enough! I will not tolerate that language in my classroom.” Immediately, all eyes were on them again. Harry grit his teeth but turned back to work with Ron, who was still refusing to speak to either of them. Draco turned silently to Hermione.

“I can make the potion, don’t worry about it.” She sounded almost… scared of him? With a glance to Harry, Draco steeled himself and shook his head.

“No, I can help. I’ll start crushing the bicorn horn if you want to get the mandrake root.” Really, Draco just really did not want to walk between the rows of Slytherin to the Potions supply closet. But, Hermione thankfully just nodded and went to get it. Potions were what Draco was good at, at least, so Snape wouldn’t be able to take points from him for anything class related but that didn’t mean Gryffindor wouldn’t suffer. Already, they’d lost twenty points as Snape took out his anger on Neville.

“Five points from Gryffindor! Potter, you’re stirring too quickly!” He wasn’t, Draco knew, and was actually doing it better than most of the other pairs. It wasn’t worth the argument, though, so he just shot Harry an apologetic look and kept adding ingredients to his own potion. 

“Oh!” Quickly, he extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron. “Sorry, you only want to heat it for nine seconds. I know the board says ten, but the potion is more powerful if you only heat it for nine because the mandrake root doesn’t overpower the mint.” The Gryffindor girl fell silent. Immediately, Draco had the urge to undo everything he’d just said and done because clearly he’d upset her and if anyone was going to actually punch him in front of this class, it would be Hermione but—

“You’re actually really good at potions, Draco.” She undoubtedly meant it as a compliment, which should have set off enough red flags to begin with, but Draco couldn’t help himself. 

“Yeah, well, when your godfather is the Potions Master of Hogwarts you tend to pick up a few tricks.” He continued to stir, checking the recipe every few seconds. Avoiding eye contact didn’t seem to help, though, because Hermione was gaping at him in completely and utter disbelief.

“Snape is your godfather?!” Draco nodded, but kept his head down when a head of greasy black hair swiveled in their direction. Shit. Why couldn’t Hermione have kept her voice down!?

“Mr. Malfoy, your potion is lacking.” Bloody brilliant, this was exactly what he needed today. He kept his head down and still, content to just take the verbal beating and reassure himself that Snape couldn’t actually curse him in front of all these people, but Hermione was not having it.

“It is not! Professor, Draco’s potion is stronger, actually, because he didn’t let the mandrake root overpower the mint. You can use it more liberally, and it’s safer.” Beady, black eyes narrowed at Hermione. But she was right, and both Draco and Snape knew it, so he merely waited to see what kind of excuse his godfather would have this time.

“Ten points from Gryffindor! Do not ever talk back or raise your voice at me again, Miss Granger. I am not a forgiving individual, as your new  _ friend  _ can tell you.” He flashed a pointed look at Draco, before returning to the front of the classroom in a huff. Harry was physically shaking with rage, but Draco just took a breath and turned back to the potion so he could focus on something that wasn’t Snape. Hermione was simmering quietly beside him, but Harry looked downright murderous.

“ _ Take a breath, lion, I’m fine. It’s just until tonight. _ ” Harry nodded, but, judging by the way he immediately snapped at Ron, was not particularly calm. Deep breath, in and out. He told himself it was so Harry would calm the hell down, but it wasn’t. His hands were shaking where he’d hidden them under the edge of the table and his heart was threatening to beat right out of his chest if Snape so much as looked at them. 

“Draco, you’re…” But Hermione didn’t finish that sentence. She trailed off, staring at his hands, and it suddenly seemed to dawn on her that he was scared. Immediately, she let it go and turned back to the potion. Thank Merlin! 

“Professor? Malfoy used that language again.” Harry, Hermione, and Draco all shot Blaise a dirty look but the smugness was already there. He’d won. Snape whipped around and stalked over to them with his hand already twitching towards his wand—it took all of Draco’s willpower not to cower. 

“Mr. Malfoy, I do believe I prohibited that language in my classroom.” Draco stayed quiet. “You don’t want to take responsibility then? Pity. Just when I was sure you couldn’t lower my opinion of you any further. Perhaps it’s time you  _ take the bull by the horns _ , no?” That sentence shot like electricity through his body. He stiffened, and immediately began to back away, but his body didn’t even register the movement because his eyes were glued on his godfather’s wand. That damn phrase… Everyone around him was clearly confused, especially Harry, but Draco just kept shaking his head. Over and over again, trying to dislodge that sentence from his mind. 

Ten years old. The first, and only time, he’d ever made the mistake of telling his parents he’d made a friend. A muggleborn boy—Draco could still see his sandy brown hair and freckled cheeks as they smiled at him, offering friendship. He’d thought it would be okay because he wasn’t a muggle…

“You’ve disgraced the family name, Draco. Take the bull by the horns.” Ten years old, he couldn’t understand why his mother was crying or whimpering. What was a bull? And why would you grab it by the horns, of all things? His father had ushered him into one of the upstairs studies that Draco had never been allowed in, to face a beastly animal. 

It was large, and hairy. Clearly, it was dead because there was no body—just the head and the neck—but somehow that made it even more disturbing. He remembered his mother begging for more time. Pleading that he was too young. And his father, snapping back at her with an open handed hit, declaring that he was old enough to learn. 

“He’s just a boy!” But Lucius didn’t care, and soon the room was filled with men and women that had to be Draco’s relatives. It was the hair that gave it away, and he recognized Aunt Bella. Confused, he looked to them for some kind of explanation or reassurance but his mother had been thrown from the room and locked out, still screaming. Why was she so worried? They were family, they wouldn’t hurt him… would they?

Draco had never been more wrong. They ordered him, without emotion, to take the bull by the horns. He still had no idea what that meant or why, but he knew what a unicorn horn looked like so he could guess they were the two bony things protruding from the head. Trembling, he’d grabbed them. 

“You’ve disgraced the family name, Draco. You will not do so again. If you let go of those horns before your punishment is up, I will personally use the cruciatus curse on you.” The room gasped, and Draco felt his stomach drop through the floor. Surely his father wasn’t serious?

“Lucius… He’s so young. Does he even know what that curse is?” But his father was relentless, and Draco did know what that curse was—very well, he’d seen his father use it—so he gripped the horns with white little fists and braced himself. 

“See, Bella? He might be a Malfoy after all.” That was when it started. His family, evidently discouraged by the fact that he was only ten years old, went easy on him at first. Stinging jinxes, minor hexes, a few jelly-leg incantations that brought him to his knees… But he didn’t let go. 

Lucius was the one who broke the pattern, of course. He uttered the first curse—a suffocation curse, Draco knew, that made it feel as if you were drowning—and from there it spiraled. Any qualms that anyone had had quickly slipped away. Vaguely, he heard voices as they screamed curses. His younger cousins hit him with jinx after jinx while his aunts and uncles ventured into the more illegal category of curses, but he barely heard. It all kind of just faded with the pain. 

Ten years old. He’d blocked that memory from his mind for so many years, but it was still just as clear as the day it’d happened. Curse after curse after curse... His body gave in to the pain, and then his mind, but his hands stayed firmly planted on those two damn horns. He refused to let go, no matter what they screamed. Words like  _ disgrace _ and  _ blood traitor _ got thrown in among the curses but Draco barely heard them because his mind felt heavy and dull. 

And then, suddenly, it was over? The distant pops of apperating wizards and witches filled his ears, and then he was alone with his father. Thank Merlin! He’d held on, like he’d been told, and now he was free! He turned to look back to his father, expecting to see pride or maybe guilt in those silver eyes, but there was nothing. Cold, empty steel met his own. Why wasn’t he pleased, though? Draco had stood there and held onto the damn horns and taken every curse and every hex without letting go. 

“Father—”

“Crucio!” If he could have screamed, Draco would have cried his voice hoarse. His skin ripped itself from his body and every nerve felt like it’d been electrocuted but he couldn’t breathe, let alone scream. He tried—Merlin, he tried. He screamed for his mother, for help, for anyone who would listen because he didn’t understand what he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t make a sound. Silently, he writhed on the floor of his father’s study. 

“Finite.” Immediately, oxygen flooded into his lungs and it burned. Draco choked on it and scrambled for any kind of grip on the hardwood, but his muscles refused to work. Dammit! What had he done wrong!? He gasped and struggled to get away because he was scared now, of his father, but the taller blond stopped him with a single motion. That damn cane stabbed down and pinned his chest to the ground. 

“Do not ever humiliate me like that again, Draco.” His father left him like that, alone and sobbing on the floor, for hours. When his mother had finally been allowed back into the room, Draco flinched from her touch and refused any kind of comfort. She tried to hug him, but his skin prickled with the burn of self-hatred. He lashed out. 

To this day, he could still remember the look on his mother’s face the moment he’d hit her. It hadn’t even been hard or intentional, but their entire relationship had shattered in that millisecond of movement and it could never be repaired. Draco had thought about that day for a long time. He knew, now, why his father had been so angry and had cast the cruciatus curse anyways. His father had wanted him to fail. Lucius had wanted to hurt him, had wanted to see him break, and had wanted to relish in the fact that he was the one who’d done it. He hadn’t been impressed or proud—he’d been fucking livid. 

Draco knew now, too, why his mother had completely shut him out after that day. He’d never blamed her for it, of course, because he hated himself every day for what he’d done to her, even if he hadn’t actually hurt her. But he understood, now. Because until that moment, she’d looked into his face and she’d seen her son—her baby boy. The second he’d lashed out, though, he saw her entire expression just melt away and she never once looked at him that way again because she hadn’t seen her child, then. She’d looked up into angry grey eyes and violent pale hands, and she’d seen Lucius. 

Seventeen times since that day, Draco had gone into that study. Never again had it been because of him—his father soon found that he preferred privately punishing him, in more personal ways—but he’d been summoned with the rest of the family. And, seventeen times, he’d raised his wand and cursed some poor relative. He’d relished in it, too. Every time, he drank in the pain he caused others as if it somehow made up for what his father did, or for his own torture in that room, or even for his fucked up family. It never did, of course, but that didn’t stop him from throwing his worst curses the next time he was summoned. 

He used to dream that it was Harry being tortured. For years, his greatest fear was that he would be summoned only to see a familiar head of black hair bent over those horns. An honorary Black, they’d say, and then the pain would commence and Draco would lose himself in it. Even now, it made him sick. 

Year after year, Draco watched each of his relatives and his friends start to slip. They never put an accidental L at the beginning of his name, and they never flinched from his cane, but he saw the difference in the way they looked at him. After a while, they didn’t see Draco. He wasn’t little Drake, he wasn’t Narcissa’s boy, he wasn’t just a kid, and it showed. As he got older, even teachers started making the mistake. Fear flickered in their faces—just for a second—and they addressed him with a little more respect than necessary. That was the the moment Draco knew they’d stopped seeing him.

And started seeing his father. 

“ _ Little dragon, are you okay? Hey, I’m here, what’s wrong what did he do to you?” _ Quickly, Draco snapped back to the present. Snape was grinning at him, clearly very aware of what memory he’d just been forced back into, and Draco wanted to draw his wand right then and there. Hermione stopped him. 

“ _ Little dragon? _ ” Every single pair of eyes that had been watching him turned to her. 

“Fifty points from Gryffindor! The next person who uses Parseltongue is getting expelled!” Snape was furious, but the attention had been taken off of Draco long enough for him to steady himself. He grabbed the edge of the table with a shaky hand. Hermione had spoken in Parseltongue. She’d called him little dragon and she’d used fucking Parseltongue to do it. He wanted to pass out but the sudden rush of oxygen wouldn’t let him, so he settled for giving her a look of utter shock. 

“ _ You can understand us? _ ” She passed him the Potions textbook again as Snape retreated to the front of the room, but wasn’t ignoring him. Harry was gaping too, as was Ron and most of the room still. Slowly, everyone went back to their potions. Only then, when she was apparently sure that Snape and the Slytherins weren’t listening, did she turn her attention back to him. 

“I started studying the language in our second year. I can’t speak it, but I can sometimes understand. You’re easier to understand than he is—more of an accent, I guess—but I know that’s what he calls you and I thought it might help.” Draco could not believe what he was hearing. He gawked at her for so long that their potion almost burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. She’d called him little dragon, knowing that was what Harry called him.

“Draco?” Harry used English, very clearly looking at Snape, but Draco shook his head. He tried to show with his eyes that it was okay and it seemed to be enough because Harry turned back to his own potion. Draco was still staring at Hermione. 

“I can’t believe you just did that…” The Gryffindor snorted as she hurriedly mixed in the crushed hazelnuts, but Draco couldn’t care if she added too many. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you hex him right here in front of everyone.” But he shook his head, and took the bottle from her. She was using the potion to avoid this conversation and he was not going to let that happen, so he quickly added the rest of the ingredients and let it simmer. 

“I wasn’t going to hex him… And you knew that.” He was not about to say out loud that he’d been seconds away from a panic attack, but he didn’t need to. It was in the way her face scrunched together, and the way she sighed. She’d known exactly what was happening. Hermione, the girl he’d bullied and insulted for over four years, had recognized that he was panicking and spoken to him in Parseltongue to bring him back. 

“Thank you, Hermione.” She nodded without another word and flipped to the next section of instructions. It didn’t matter, though, because she’d heard him. When Harry caught his eyes next, he managed to flash his lion a small smile of reassurance before Snape glared. He was okay, honestly. Because Hermione had stepped in and put herself on the line for him. 

“Aren’t you worried about your house points?” She shrugged, but refused to look at him.

“Harry and Ron haven’t done anything incredibly stupid or dangerous yet this year, so I figured we could take the loss. Gryffindor usually allots some points for us three to lose, anyways.” Draco couldn’t figure out what part of this entire ordeal shocked him the most. Snape bringing up that memory, Harry doing wandless magic, or even Hermione calling him little dragon in Parseltongue? No, he decided. The most surprising part of the day had been finding out that Gryffindor purposefully  _ set aside _ house points for the golden trio to lose each year. 

Stupid Gryffindor courage.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own HP or any of the characters! Confrontation chapter!

“ _ Stop watching me, little dragon _ .” It was a warning, but Harry’s tone was light and amused so Draco merely looked back to his book.

“ _ I’m reading, lion, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. _ ” The Gryffindor common room had gone silent, now, listening to their hisses even though no one could understand them. They were a novelty now, to most of them. 

“ _ You haven’t turned the page in over four minutes, little dragon, and you’re a very fast reader. Care to try that again? _ ” He laughed, but not before Ron caught it.

“Can you two stop whisper-fucking each other for like ten minutes, please? I really do have to finish this and, unfortunately, I need Harry’s attention to do that, Draco.” The whole common room was listening now, and just waiting for one of them to let their temper flare. He and Harry were fiercely protective, now, and the school had quickly learned that. However, Ron had been getting better lately. Harry had given him a black eye first, of course, and Hermione had hexed him for calling Draco a Death Eater, but they’d come to an awkward sort of bickering truce. 

“Talk to  _ him _ , Weasley, I’m just trying to read.” Ron snorted, but Draco merely hid a smile and turned back to his book. Harry elbowed the redhead—and Draco had no doubt he would have placed a warning hand on his thigh, if they’d been sitting close enough—but Draco heard a cough from Hermione that sounded distinctly like ‘bullshit’.

“Shove off, Malfoy.” It was a seventh year Gryffindor that Draco didn’t know. The girl sneered at him, and even though it made his skin prickle he managed an apathetic look. Harry was pissed enough for the both of them. 

“ _ Leave it, lion.” _ Harry lowered his wand, but it seemed grudging. He was tense—they both were—and on edge because clearly, someone either knew their plans or fate was just not on their side. It’d been three days since their first dinner at Hogwarts together. Each night, they’d tried to enact the plan but, each night, someone or something managed to get in the way and it was becoming ridiculous. 

At first, Snape had been called into a private conference with Minnie. Then, about half of the school delivery owls had been cursed with a disembowelment charm which had caused quite the uproar, followed by an evacuation. And, finally, Harry and him had both been called out of dinner early by Flitwick for a makeup Charms lesson. Clearly, someone was trying to throw a wrench in their plans—but it wasn’t Minnie, surprisingly. 

Draco and Harry went everywhere together, without any exceptions. Thus, Ron had been forced to acknowledge him eventually if he ever wanted to speak to Harry or Hermione again, which he evidently did. Neither Blaise nor Pansy, however, had been bold enough to approach them yet. He didn’t mind, though, because Hermione had become remarkably kind to him and Ron was being civil. Not that he deserved it…

“Hey, Drake. You got a second?” Immediately, both Hermione and Harry whipped around, wands already drawn. In the middle of the Great Hall, it was hard not to see the way most students flinched away from the gesture but it was even harder to ignore the way Blaise balked. His father had always been fond of curses, Draco remembered.

“Back off, Zabini.” Somehow, Hermione had managed to pick up on his lion’s protectiveness. Blaise paled in the face of two angry Gryffindors—and public humiliation—but his eyes stayed focused on the blond. He was waiting for Draco’s answer, they realized.

“I’m listening.” For the first time in his life, Draco stood face to face with the taller, dark-skinned boy and he wasn’t scared. Blaise could have beat the shit out of him without even trying—and had, on more than one occasion—but Draco was filled with a rush of confidence as he stood between his two Gryffindor bodyguards. The other Slytherins seemed caught off guard by their sudden solidarity. 

“Alone?” Even if Blaise was his (ex) best friend, he was a Slytherin. Draco had practically trained that ambition and that deviousness into the boy since childhood and he was not about to mistake that for friendship. He shook his head.

“Say it here, or don’t say it at all.” The other Slytherin gave him a look, but Draco ignored it. He knew how uncharacteristic it was for him to demand that a conversation be public, especially in front of the entire school, but he didn’t trust the Slytherins anymore. 

“You have to stop, Drake.” Harry’s hand tightened against the small of his back. Draco knew him well enough now to guess that his lion’s other hand had snaked out for his wand, so he reached out to cover it with his own. No need to turn this into a duel—not yet, at least. Honestly, Harry needed to get a hold of his emotions before the entire school suddenly shattered like a metal goblet in the enemy’s hand.

“Stop what?” Blaise shot him a pleading look, clearly not comfortable talking in front of Harry, but Draco didn’t care. 

“Pansy’s parents are in town, you’re welcome to join us for tea in Hogsmeade tomorrow. I know you, Drake,” He glanced back at the Slytherin table, who were now all clearly watching. “Just... please don’t do anything stupid.” As vague and ominous as that warning was, Draco gave Blaise a grateful nod before following Harry to the Gryffindor table. 

“ _ What was that about, little dragon? _ ” Draco hesitated, glancing at Hermione. He still didn’t totally trust that she couldn’t understand them, even if she swore she only understood pieces at best, but she seemed confused. Harry would keep pushing, too, if he didn’t answer.

“ _ A warning. Pansy’s parents are nearby visiting friends and my father is with them. Blaise wanted me to know that he was close. _ ” Subconsciously, Harry reached out and gripped his thigh. It was comforting, and Draco welcomed it even if it was a little too tight to be normal, but it immediately drew the attention of the Slytherins. Sneers of ‘Potter’s bitch’ could be heard. Just another few minutes, and then the professors would all be filing in for dinner and hopefully their plan would finally work. 

“ _ You got all that from a tiny conversation? And what does that mean for us? _ ” Harry frowned at him, clearly confused, but Hermione quickly moved to take the seat on his other side before another Gryffindor could and he paused to thank her. 

“ _ You can’t Apparate in Hogwarts, lion. If he wanted to get here fast, he would have to Apparate nearby and use the closed floo network. Hogsmeade is the only place outside of the grounds with floo access. _ ” His lion went quiet again as he realized what that meant. Lucius was close. The man could appear in a rush of flames the second he had a reason to, which meant that their plan might actually work. Wordlessly, he swallowed back a bit of terror. 

“Hey Harry, pass me the pudding?” It was within Draco’s reach, not Harry’s, but they both appreciated that Hermione had adopted the habit of only directly addressing his lion. He passed the bowl, but his eyes lingered on the large fireplace at the front of the Great Hall. Would his father really come? Part of him was anxious, afraid that he’d figure out the plan and best them, but a larger part knew that his father was likely emotional. Angry, probably, and more than a little bloodthirsty. 

“ _ Snape’s here. Is it time? _ ” Draco steeled himself, digging his fingernails into his palm to anchor his current mess of emotions, but nodded.

“ _ Might as well. I’m not going to be able to eat anything until this is done.” _ Harry’s hand clenched on his leg, but Draco forced himself to breathe. He caught Blaise’s eye across the Great Hall, who shook his head slowly with a pleading expression on his face, but Draco took a second deep breath. In, and out. This was his plan, this was what he wanted. 

“ _ I love you, lion _ .” He hadn’t meant to make it sound so scared, but the way it trembled over his lips like goodbye. Harry slid his arm around his waist, thank Merlin. 

“ _ I love you too, little dragon. This is going to work. We’ll be okay. _ ” Draco nodded, but he didn’t know if he meant it anymore. His father knew him, his father was powerful, and if it didn’t work… He glanced to Minnie, just to make sure she was there. She would step in if it went bad—she had to—and Draco repeated that over and over again to himself as he took a deep breath. Harry was waiting, letting him be the one to make the first move. 

Draco took a deeper breath—as deep as he could manage—and stood. Immediately, the entire Great Hall was watching them and he couldn’t tell if it was because he’d stood without Harry or if it was because they could feel Snape’s withering gaze. Already, his godfather was angry.

Slytherins were usually so rational and so cunning… it was strange to see a man that Draco knew to be heartless look so close to smashing his dinner plate. His father was probably at least a hundred times worse, by now, and was just waiting for an excuse to burst in.

“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy.” Even Dumbledore turned at the harshness in Snape’s tone, but Draco didn’t care. He couldn’t break eye contact with the man. The second he did, he would lose all the petty, childish fight he’d mustered for this moment and he’d remember exactly how terrifying his godfather could be.

“Thank you, Severus,” Draco replied, keeping his voice loud enough to carry across the room. “But I think I’ll stand. You see, I’m finally taking the bull by the horns.” Snape’s face lost a bit of color—not that that was really saying much—but Draco honestly didn’t know if it was because of the first name, or the allusion to that horrid family tradition.

Slowly, dramatically, Draco slid the familiar band of silver from his right ring finger. It bore the Malfoy family crest and it had been a gift from his father when he’d started at Hogwarts. A reminder of everything a Malfoy was—and everything he wasn’t. 

His wand slid from his sleeve directly into his palm and, within a half of a second, the ring was in the air and glowing with flame. Everyone watched, stuck to their seats, as the metal began to give under the magical heat and melted onto the table one drop at a time. It was completely symbolic—meaningless, aside from the destruction of the ancient seal—and it was exactly the kind of thing his father would have killed someone over. Snape’s eyes held that same indignation now, as if it was a personal slight.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will not—” The Potions Master’s slimy voice stopped the moment Draco leveled his wand at him. Obviously, it was against the rules to threaten a professor in such a blatant way and it was even more forbidden within the Malfoy family, yet here they were. Draco narrowed his eyes, well aware of Snape’s dueling abilities and fairly confident in his ability to counter them.

“Don’t middle-name me, Severus. I will do whatever I damn well please because, contrary to popular belief, you do not own me.” Snape rose, drawing a collective intake of breath from the school. The tension in the room rose, and even the whispers had stopped now as if every single student was terrified of missing something. Harry’s hand settled gently against his outer thigh in silent support.

“Draco, this behavior is completely unacceptable and you will go to my office right now to face your consequences.” People grimaced, and a few of the Slytherins seemed to puff a little with pride now that Draco was getting what they thought he deserved. If he bowed his head now, he would likely get beaten within an inch of his life. Harry’s hand was warm, though, and it was meant to be reassuring but all it did was remind Draco of his true reason for doing this. Until Lucius was dead, Harry would never be safe.

“Draco, my office! Now!” Snape was getting impatient and reverting back to only his first name the way he’d done when Draco was a child. 

“Or what?” Never, in history, had two words earned such a reaction. Students swore and tried to get out of the way while staff merely gasped or widened their eyes. Vaguely, he heard Minnie yelling to them but everything sounded warped and distant now. Nothing could have dampened the explosion from his godfather, though.

“Or what?! Or  _ what!? _ I’ll tell you ‘or what’! Get your ass into my office in the next ten seconds or your father will hear about it! Do you understand me!?” Draco did understand him—as did the rest of the school, because he seemed incapable of lowering his voice at this point—but he didn’t falter. Harry squeezed his hand, and Draco merely tightened his grip on his wand. 

“I’ll tell him, Draco! I’ll do it! Don’t test me, you little—”

“Then tell him.” Snape froze on the spot, and Draco watched that long, pale hand slip into the pocket of his robes for a wand. A spell was cast, but it was too quick for anyone to hear the words. He didn’t want to know, anyway.

“You’re going to regret that, Draco.” The fire at the front of the Great Hall flared, rising high enough to blacken the walls, and out stepped Lucius Malfoy. He wasn’t alone, either. Death Eaters, disguised in robes and black smoke, swarmed around him and went after the professors, falling on the students like it was their last meal. Draco’s stomach plummeted through the floor, and he gagged on oxygen. His father was supposed to have come alone.

“ _ Draco Lucius Malfoy! _ ” It was a threat, an insult, and a command all in one but Harry’s hand gripped his own so tightly that he didn’t kneel. Fuck, he was so screwed. His father looked calm and collected, even if his voice was loud, but he knew better. He saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand inched towards his wand, and the way that cane thudded with anger. Dammit. Lucius wasn’t here to kill him, he was here for a display of control and he would humiliate and hurt Draco as much as it took to break him back into that pliable little follower he’d been as a child.

“Draco, kneel.” He refused, and felt Harry’s touch on his arm tighten even harder. Then that wand was out. Merlin, he hated that wand and he knew exactly what it was capable of but he refused to let Harry be the one who suffered from it. He darted out in front of his lion, fully prepared to take the Cruciatus Curse, and watched in amazement as whatever spell it had been bounced off the air in front of him. 

Harry had cast a shield. 

Salazar Slytherin! He was so lucky that his lion had the sense to shield them! His mind paused, just for a moment, to examine the swirls of light dancing between him and his father—a combination of blue and yellow, their favorite colors A custom spell, then, he realized. He would have to ask Harry about that if they made it out of this alive. 

Lucius saw the shield, though, and his face twisted into a glare. All at once, he threw up barriers to bar the professors and the rest of the student body away from them, forcing them to focus on the Death Eaters rather than on Draco and Harry. His father advanced. 

Draco had never seen that much hatred and that much pure  _ rage _ in his father’s face before. Clearly, Lucius was beyond the point of putting on a show or keeping up appearances, so Draco could guess that his story had managed to go public. And, if the rage was any indication, people were siding with him. His father looked  _ livid _ . Another three curses bounced helplessly off of Harry’s shield before Draco registered the feeling of his lion’s hand on his arm. 

“ _ You’re sure about this, little dragon? _ ” This was his last chance to back out, his last chance to beg for forgiveness. He could still grovel at his father’s feet and take the punishment, he could still go back to the Manor and pretend everything was normal. But Harry kept his hand on his arm, and Draco steeled himself. No, this was the only way his lion would be safe and this was the only plan they had. It would work. It  _ had _ to work. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

“ _ Imperio. _ ” Immediately, any sense of worry or anxiety just disappeared. His father advanced on them like a vulture diving down at its prey, but Draco merely looked at the man. He felt his body relax, and he saw his father hesitate. Words fell from those pale lips, but Draco was deaf to them as warmth engulfed his body and his mind. It was Harry whose voice he actually heard.

“ _ Raise your wand _ .” Draco did it, watching as the tip began to glow a sickly shade of purple. What kind of spell glowed purple? He couldn’t remember, honestly, but he didn’t really care because Harry hadn’t asked him to cast anything or to think about that. His lion’s touch disappeared. It took a minute to register, honestly, but then Draco saw with horror that Lucius had thrown Harry out through the barriers as well. He was alone. 

“ _ You can do this, little dragon. Stupefy him. _ ” Draco obeyed instantly, watching his father block the spell with ease. Those hard, steely grey eyes turn on him. Lucius Malfoy looked shocked, honestly, that Draco had had the strength to raise his wand at him let alone cast a spell, but it quickly turned into amusement.

“You’re going to duel me now, Draco?” But the words barely mattered, because he was waiting for the one voice he could hear above all the others in the chaos. His lion’s. 

“ _ Hit him again. _ ” He did, and again Lucius blocked but it was less arrogant now. Draco was an amazing dueler—he knew that, and his father had paid for his private lessons for over ten years—but now that he had the strength to do it, he was deadly. His father sneered, but Draco was already firing another curse. 

He attacked, following Harry’s orders like clockwork because he knew he would never have the courage to hex his father otherwise. The Great Hall was in complete chaos and professors were getting involved, trying to evacuate the students they could reach and banish the Death Eaters that got too close, but Lucius was focused solely on them.

Screaming, Lucius managed to get Draco away from the barrier and away from where Harry was standing, whispering to him, which, under any other circumstances would have paralyzed him with fear. But Draco stayed steady, even when he felt the eyes on him. Even when he heard Aunt Bella’s cackle, and even when his father slammed him against the stone wall. His mind was blank, though, and he was only vaguely aware of his own body’s pain surging through him, right alongside Harry’s fear. It wasn’t his own, though. He wasn’t scared.

“ _ Stay strong, little dragon, you can do this. _ ” It wasn’t a command, but no one else had any way of knowing that. The Parseltongue was lost on everyone, even Lucius, and even though Minnie was clearly giving her all to reach them, now, he understood her need to protect the others. He could duel, even if he was scared. Minnie knew that too, and she knew that many of the first and second years would be decimated by Death Eaters before he even flinched. 

“ _ Focus, little dragon. _ ” Harry’s voice was like liquid luck in his veins. His lion would never have given him an order or command that wasn’t what Draco wanted, which was what let him trust the Gryffindor with such a powerful curse. What Draco was considering, without Harry’s influence, was much worse. And yet, Draco felt the encouragement in his veins and it gave him strength, even against the man pinning him to the stone wall. 

He raised his wand. 

Draco was still very aware that he was more than a foot off the ground, being pinned by his father’s fist, but it made him tall enough to reach his father’s face. Locking eyes with his father, he jabbed his wand under the man’s jaw. So much like his own, with the same pale skin and the same lethal expression... He felt the entire room go still. 

The fighting continued, and in reality it was louder than ever, but Draco heard none of it. He could imagine the faces of the Death Eaters who managed to sneak a glance at their predicament—the ones who knew him, and who feared his father too—and he could imagine their shock. Around him, even students and professors seemed to notice his wand and pause for a moment to watch. Slowly, his father’s face darkened, and then broke into a smile. 

“How perfect!” his father laughed. “You think you can curse me, Draco? You won’t do it. You’ve never been anything more than a coward, and everyone here knows that.” Across the room, Harry whispered:  _ Do as you wish _ . It wasn’t ‘finite’ and it wouldn’t break the Imperius curse, but it was a command to act of his own free will. They’d talked about this and planned it, of course, but the reality hit him like stinging hex. 

Draco felt the haze of obedience vanish from his mind, though no one else knew what Harry had said, but just for a second he couldn’t breathe. His father looked  _ livid _ . The same face that had haunted his every living moment since he was a child stared down at him with nothing short of murder in his eyes. His father saw the fear, too, and laughed. 

“Pathetic!” He threw Draco to the ground, casting yet another layer of defensive spells to keep anyone else from intervening. “Kneel.” Draco obeyed without even comprehending the command. Around him, he felt the Great Hall collectively suck in a breath but he couldn’t look to see what had happened. His father’s cane rested coldly against his cheek. 

“I always knew you were foolish, Draco,” Lucius crooned, dragging the silver of the cane’s tip across Draco’s lips. “And I always knew you would disappoint me, but  _ this _ ?” Fuck. Draco’s entire body seized and trembled with terror because he knew he’d fucked up and his father would not be forgiving, not now. His mind reeled, trying to find a way out, but he was interrupted. 

“ _ I love you, little dragon _ .” Immediately, Draco’s head whipped around to find the source of the Parseltongue. His father’s cane cracked into the back of his head and forced his attention back on the situation, but it was enough. He’d caught a glimpse of emerald eyes. His lion. 

“Your precious Gryffindor can’t save you now, Draco.” At the mention of Harry, Draco felt a surge of confidence. He stood, even if his legs shook, and he started to back away but he wasn’t running. His body needed to be closer to his lion if he was going to have the strength to do this, so he stumbled backwards until he felt a familiar pair of eyes on his skin. 

“ _ You can do this, little dragon _ .” Draco wanted to scream that he couldn’t, that he needed Harry to step in and save him the way he always did, but his mouth refused. This was just like that damn Muggle oven. He wanted to beg Harry to take over because his lion was so much better at being strong but he couldn’t—he knew he couldn’t. This wasn’t something Harry could do for him. Besides, Harry couldn’t reach him, even if he tried, and Merlin that was terrifying. But Harry was there, still, and that was what mattered because he felt the strength and the emotion pulsing even through the barrier. Shaking, he lifted his wand. 

“Expelliarmus!” His father laughed as his cane flew him from his hand, and then rebounded off his defenses right back to him. 

“Really, Draco? That’s what you’re going to try to attack me with? A First Year’s dueling spell?” Lucius kept going, but Draco effortlessly blocked and focused on the voice that was slowly rising over the din of noise. 

_ “Yes little dragon! I told you you could do it! You disarmed him, little dragon, you stood up against him! You can do this!” _ His father’s face had turned gleeful, and Draco knew what was coming. That look always came before the curse, before he felt everything just disappear and he suffered the worst moments of his life. Fuck. Harry’s voice rattled around in his head like loose coins, but that familiar warmth and strength that had always surrounded his lion lingered in the air. Lucius grinned at him.

“Imperio!” Draco braced, but… nothing happened. Another wave of warmth and reassurance came from somewhere in the background, but Draco couldn’t focus on it. His father’s face had fallen, and was quickly turning angry. 

“Imperio!” But again, nothing happened. They hadn’t broken the previous Imperius, and his father’s wouldn’t work until they did. Professors were screaming and Draco could see Aurors popping up into the Great Hall like gnomes out of a garden, but he couldn’t stop to look. Death Eaters were fleeing, now, but his father was turning red in the face and advancing again.

“What did you do!?” No one was breaking through the defenses fast enough, though. The entire student body was panicking and the Death Eaters had vanished but all eyes were on him. He was shaking, still, so badly that his wand could barely aim even as he blocked the curses his father hurled at him, but he couldn’t breathe. Everyone was panicking, including him. There was one person, hidden in the chaos, who was calm, though. His lion. Harry, with his voice low and soothing, was speaking to him.

“ _ You’re so strong, little dragon. Look at how far you’ve come, look at how angry he is. He knows that he’s losing control. Without the curse, he knows that you’re stronger. Look at his face. He’s afraid of you, little dragon.” _ And Harry was right. Lucius was furious but, beneath that, there was something else. Could it be fear, though? Draco had never stood up for himself before, had never had the courage to even hesitate on a command. He lifted his wand straight at his father.

“You wouldn’t dare, Draco.” But his father didn’t sound so sure, anymore. The man was getting desperate and Draco could feel his self-control slipping the longer they stood there. 

“I’ll kill her! I’ll kill your mother if you don’t stop this!” But Draco held his wand steady, and felt another rush of warmth from Harry. “I’ll kill your precious lionheart! I’ll slit his throat and let him choke to death on his own blood!” That was too far. Any doubt that Draco had had melted at that sentence. He felt every ounce of protectiveness and anger he’d ever felt towards his father, towards the Dursleys, surge in his chest. Images began filling his mind. 

Him, on his knees, as young as four or five years old taking a beating from his father’s cane. His mother casting healing spells on herself and trying to hide the bruises from him when she came to say goodnight. Pale, blond hair falling against his bare stomach. He felt his father’s hands as they ripped off his clothes and imagined them doing the same to his lion. His lion… He saw bruises and scars and bloodsoaked cuts against his lion’s perfect skin and a wave of pure rage washed over him. Lucius had threatened his lion.

“ _ Avada kedavra! _ ” For a second, everything stopped. His father’s face contorted in shock, and then in betrayal, but Draco didn’t let the curse weaken. There was so much hatred in those cold, grey eyes… Draco had to wonder if there had ever been any love in them at all. The curse left his body like the world’s loudest scream, sucking the air from his lungs and blasting out of the end of his wand. 

And then his father fell.

Draco watched the man who had controlled him his entire life fall lifeless to the ground, and he still couldn’t breathe. Everything he’d ever been afraid of… Every scar, every bruise, every night that Draco had cried himself to sleep or woken up in a cold sweat from the nightmares. It all fell, right there, in a heap of black robes and blond hair. What had he done?

His strength evaporated, and Draco collapsed to his knees. The walls came down and people flooded into the space but, before Draco could even scream at them not to touch him, there were hands on his skin. Warm, familiar, calloused hands that pulled him tightly against a steady wall of muscle. 

“ _ Finite! Finite, hey you’re okay. You did it, little dragon, we’re safe now. You did it.” _ He was crying, sobbing against Harry’s chest and shaking so badly that nothing seemed real anymore. Those slow, gentle touches let him breathe—but just barely. His father was dead. It didn’t seem possible and yet Draco knew it had to be true because he’d just done it. He’d killed his own father. He’d cast an unforgivable curse, he’d killed someone, why weren’t the Aurors coming for him?

“Don’t touch him!” But then Draco understood, because Harry had backed them against a wall and had his wand raised at the crowd. “Back the fuck off and don’t come any closer!” Harry was crying, too, he realized. Sobbing, actually, and shaking almost as badly as Draco even as he raised his wand at the Aurors. How were they not dead? Ignoring Aurors was one thing, but actively threatening them with a wand? But then Draco saw that shield again, the same mix of yellows and blues swirling in the air between them, and he understood. 

“ _ I love you, little dragon, I love you so goddamn much and I’m so proud of you. You did it, dragon. You did it. I love you so much—I love you, you hear me? We’re safe, now, it’s gonna be okay. _ ” Draco nodded, but he had trouble believing it. He felt like he was drowning, somehow, and he clung to his lion so tightly that he was sure it had to hurt. They were safe, so why did it feel like a part of his soul had just shattered?

“Harry! Harry, please!” It was Minnie’s voice that managed to reach them through the shield. She was crying too, he realized, and Harry waved his wand at the barrier before burying his face back into Draco’s shoulder. He breathed in deeply, relishing the safety of his lion. Minnie took a cautious step forward, reaching out with one hand towards the shield, but the second she realized that she’d been allowed through she was on the ground with them. 

For the first time in his entire life, Draco didn’t flinch away from an adult’s touch. She pulled them both into her arms and smoothed their hair and kissed their foreheads and told them over and over again that everything was going to be okay, that they were safe now. Draco just nuzzled deeper into Harry’s chest. 

“He used an unforgivable curse Head—” Minnie was shielding them now too, though, and she turned on the Aurors. 

“They are minors!”

“But Headmistress—”

“I am their legal guardian and you will get your hands off of my son!” Vaguely, Draco was aware of someone moving away from them. Had someone been touching Harry? Surely, he would have noticed. But, then again, everything felt dark and hazy in a way that didn’t quite seem real and the only thing he was sure of was his lion’s hold on him.

“Minerva—” Minnie was not having it, though, and Draco thanked every religion he could think of. She’d pulled him into her arms as well, hugging the life out of him and shielding him from the onslaught of Aurors.

“He has been cursed, Minister! They require medical attention and they will be getting it!” Minister? Since when was the Minister of Magic there? Draco couldn’t pry his eyes open, though, so he focused on the feeling of Harry’s heartbeat against his cheek and Minnie’s hand on his back. It felt good, honestly. Like family. 

“ _ You’re safe, you’re safe _ boys _ , you’re safe. _ ” He jolted, but it wasn’t Harry’s voice hissing at him. Minnie, still crying and still holding them tightly, was whispering those two little words over and over again in Parseltongue. Draco could imagine that Harry had taught them to her in case he ever had a panic attack when Harry wasn’t there, but Merlin he was so glad. Those words were repeated over and over again, sinking into him like Harry’s pulse. Glancing up, Draco managed to catch a glimpse of his father’s body being levitated out of the Great Hall, but shockingly there was no remorse. He felt no guilt, no fear. The Aurors could take him now, honestly, and he would be alright because now his lion was truly safe. 

“ _ You’re safe,  _ boys. I’ve got you, everything’s going to be okay...” Draco nodded, but curled tighter between the two of them as if he could manage to shut the world out. Minnie tangled a hand in his hair and held him close. It felt strangely maternal, actually, and though it surprised them both Draco quickly felt his lion melt into the hold and he followed suit. 

“ _ You’re safe, _ boys.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own HP or any of the characters!!

" _You're okay, little dragon, everything is going to be okay. I'm right here. We're safe, love, we're safe and we're going to be okay now. I love you, little dragon."_ Harry's whisper carried across the large, open hospital wing. He couldn't see Draco, but he kept hissing. The curtains had been drawn around another bed, as far away as possible from his own, and every now and then a quiet hiss of _love you_ could be heard from inside.

Draco couldn't talk much, still. After everything that had happened, Harry was shocked that the blond had managed to speak at all, let alone to be questioned. He could hear them, though, vaguely talking behind a few muffling charms as they questioned his little dragon. Minnie was with him, thank Merlin, and he could hear her voice cut in every now and then even if he couldn't make out what they were saying, but that meant he was left alone to face his own inquisitor.

"Mr. Harry James Potter, I'm sure you're aware that charges are being voiced against you for using the Imperius Curse. Is this correct?" Harry stayed silent, merely watching the quill beside the man move with the words. "Mr. Potter, the use of an Unforgivable Curse is no small matter. Your guardian insists that you would do no such thing, and yet there are hundreds of witnesses who testify to hearing you give Mr. Malfoy commands in Parseltongue." Again, he stayed quiet. The man stared at him, his brow furrowing into something like an angry caterpillar, but Harry just sighed.

"Was there a question in there, Sir?" He kept his voice polite, but disinterested, and hissed another _love you_ under his breath. This would work. It _had_ to work because there was only one other person in the world who could speak Parseltongue and they were never going to get Voldemort in front of the Wizengamot. They could pull memories all they wanted, but they only had Draco or Harry to translate them. And they could test their wands a thousand times, but the only thing they would be able to see was the shield charm he'd cast using both wands after the duel. This had to work, didn't it?

"Many students and professors attest to hearing you giving commands to Mr. Malfoy and using the Imperius Curse in Parseltongue. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Shame none of them can actually understand Parseltongue, isn't it?" Harsh, angry blue eyes flared at him. The man looked so annoyed, as if having to deal with a temperamental toddler and not a perfectly rational teenager. Well, this would certainly be fun, at least.

"Mr. Potter, this is not a joking matter." No shit, they were potentially both going to Azkaban if they didn't follow their plan to the letter. _Please_ , Harry thought, _please follow the plan_. He could just see Draco caving, trying to defend him or saying too much in his post-trauma state. Harry would kill him if he even thought about it.

* * *

Draco stiffened under the gaze of the Minister, but Minnie held his right hand and he tried to breathe. _I love you, little dragon_. He tried desperately to focus on that sweet hissing sound as it brushed against his eardrums. Deep breaths, in and out, and soon enough this would all be over. He just had to remember the plan.

"Mr. Malfoy, you cast an Unforgivable Curse today and, in doing so, killed your own father. What do you have to say for yourself?" Draco prayed that Harry would stick to the plan. He had to, right? There was no way that Harry would pull any of that hero bullshit at a time like this, not when there was so much at stake. Right?

"I didn't cast an Unforgivable Curse." Even Minnie gawked at that, stuttering and stumbling over the words as if Draco didn't know what he was saying. He did know, though, and even as the Minister shushed Minnie and asked him to repeat himself, Draco knew exactly what he was saying.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're denying using the only curse known to cause instantaneous death while showing no outward symptoms?" Even the scribe who was dutifully writing every word they said looked doubtful, but Draco took a deep breath. Remember the plan.

"I cast a stunning charm, that's all. I don't know why he died." Minnie looked ready to slap him, but he didn't let himself even consider that possibility right now. There were more important things, like wording his answers for this report.

"A stunning charm." It wasn't a question, but he still nodded. "Okay, and what about the Imperius Curse that Mr. Potter used on you? Did he command you to kill Lucius Malfoy?" Draco just looked at them, keeping his face blank.

"What Imperius Curse?"

* * *

"Mr. Potter, I will remind you that you are under oath. Did you, or did you not, cast an Imperius Curse on Mr. Malfoy?" Deep breaths. Harry dug his nails into his palm.

"I did not." The Ministry official scowled as he wrote that down, but Harry forced himself to stay calm. Short of Veritaserum, which was illegal to use, they were completely dependent on him and Draco to know what had happened.

"And did you, or did you not, hear Mr. Malfoy cast an Unforgivable Curse?"

"I did not."

* * *

Sitting in the hospital wing, Draco was left alone. He hadn't expected any visitors—both because security was tight, and because none of his friends would be caught dead speaking to him anymore—but the silence still stung. The whispering stopped as the Aurors went to question Harry for a second time—which was completely unnecessary, in his opinion, but whatever. Regardless, Draco was left just waiting there. He was content to hear Harry's muffled voice, even if it wasn't Parseltongue, as a sort of soothing background noise.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" Draco jolted, more than shocked to see bushy hair and Gryffindor-red robes standing in the break in the curtain. Why was Hermione here? Part of him couldn't help wondering if she'd been sent by the Ministry or one of the Aurors to play good-interrogator. But, it was Hermione reaching out so he nodded, taking the risk. She sat beside his bed with a little sympathetic smile.

"They're talking to Harry now, running tests on his wand and such. All they can get, though, is the shield spell he used for you guys, so I doubt anything will come of it. How are you holding up?" Draco could not believe his ears. Hermione Granger, of all people, was sitting beside him, inquiring about his health and updating him on Harry. Since when were they friends? He appreciated it, of course, and the company was a nice reprieve from his anxious wondering, but he couldn't help being surprised.

"I'm alright." He didn't mean to be short with her, but thankfully she didn't seem to mind.

"I'm glad. The Imperius curse can be quite draining, I've heard…" Draco just shrugged. "You trusted him enough to let him use it on you? That's impressive." He stayed quiet, refused to either confirm or deny anything because she could have been a spy for the Ministry, but it didn't seem to matter. Hermione was looking at him now, and smiling under her breath—if that was even possible to do. For a moment, it almost felt like Hermione was studying him with some newfound kind of respect, but it was quickly gone.

"So, I'm sure I'll be swore to secrecy soon and a lot of the details haven't come out yet but I wanted to let you know what I could before I have to take an oath. Your father is dead. They tried to revive him, of course, but with the curse that you _allegedly_ used… he's dead. I thought that might make you feel better, in a weird sort of way." And it did, honestly. He could breathe a little easier knowing that his father hadn't been saved by some miracle potion and that Harry didn't have a giant target on his back.

"Thank you. Did they at least get any of the Death Eaters into custody? Were any students hurt?" Hermione frowned and picked at her cuticles.

"That's the thing… They weren't Death Eaters."

"Of course they were! I heard Bella's voice and—" Quickly, the Gryffindor lay a hand on his arm. His voice had risen in volume and he realized suddenly that she probably wasn't supposed to be with him, let alone feeding him information. He closed his mouth with a sharp _clack_.

"They weren't. A lot of people are still looking into it but the theory that's gaining the most traction is boggarts. It seems unlikely, I know, but if he could have somehow gotten a boggart in front of someone that he knew it would take the form of a Death Eater for, he could have theoretically duplicated it to make it seem like… You get the idea. I don't know how true it is but that's what they're guessing right now. No one was hurt, and that's one of the reasons that they think it was an ultimately harmless creature or a duplicated illusion." Draco nodded like that made sense, but his mind was reeling.

Would his father really have done something like that? On one hand, it seemed far too showy and surface level but, on the other hand, it would have gotten attention off of them long enough for him to drag Draco out of there. Provided he obeyed, of course, which he hadn't. Could a person even duplicate a boggart, though? He had no idea and had never even considered it, honestly, but it gave him hope that someone like Hermione was looking into it.

"Are you going to testify if they ask you to?" That wasn't the question he'd meant to ask, but the words slipped out nevertheless. Hermione didn't even stiffen.

"Of course I am. But I saw the same thing as everyone else, and I don't know Parseltongue so I doubt my testimony will be of much use." It was subtle, but Draco heard it and he tried to show his gratitude without words. She wouldn't analyze the Parseltongue memories. If anyone had a chance of having heard what they'd actually said, it was Hermione but she was willing to plead ignorance for them. Draco had never been more thankful for her.

"Can I ask you what happened to Snape?" Again, Hermione's expression scrunched but this time it seemed more like distaste than discomfort. She sighed, glancing absentmindedly over her shoulder for Aurors.

"He's being questioned, same as you two. That's all I know for certain but my guess is that nothing will really come of it because he didn't duel or cast any Unforgivables. They're looking into the summoning spell, but I don't think they'll find anything. I'm sorry." He shook his head because, after all, it wasn't her fault, but hearing those facts still stung.

"It's not your fault." And it wasn't, honestly, but she looked pained by it too. Rather than wallow, though, she took a deep breath and changed the subject.

"Hey Draco, can I ask you something?" Fuck. Draco knew, of course, that the questions were coming but that didn't make it any easier to face. What if she asked about his father? Or, worse yet, the killing curse? He just shrugged, though, and put all of his energy into his keeping his face impassive. Hermione was a friend—sort of—but right now it was him and his lion against the world, regardless of anyone else. Apparently, he'd been silent long enough to be seen as an agreement.

"What's he like? Obviously, we know him but there's a side to him that only you see. What's he like with just you?" It took Draco a solid thirty seconds to understand that she meant Harry. Hermione was asking him about Harry. Not his father, not the abuse, not their disappearance or the battle in the Great Hall—Harry. He could talk about his lion, right?

"Protective, I suppose, and caring." It was true, but Hermione brushed him off with a laugh.

"Yeah, but he's like that with us, or at least in front of us, too. What about when it's _just_ you two? Not like anything dirty, of course, but there's a lot that he hides from us, I think, because we're still set in the dynamics we established in First Year. What's he like outside of that?" Draco shrugged. He honestly wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer that, but clearly Hermione had something in mind. Something they wouldn't know about Harry…

"He's allergic to raspberries."

"Yeah, you already told us that, genius. Next." He had to laugh, or at least snicker, at her annoyance. Merlin, how long had it been since he'd laughed? The motion felt strange and foreign, as if that had been lifetimes ago and not merely a day or two. Thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to notice his little tangent.

"Okay, um… He sleeps on his stomach? He's really protective physically, like putting himself between me and other people. He's funny, I think, and really sarcastic. He swears all the fucking time but does it in Parseltongue so everyone thinks he's an angel. Um… He isn't ticklish. He likes to cook, but he doesn't do it very often. " She nodded, soaking that answer in, and Draco tried to focus on how neutral her body language was. Maybe it was intentional, or maybe Harry had coached her before all of this had happened, but he appreciated it immensely.

"He seems to breathe a little easier whenever you're around," she finally offered. "I never would have thought that you'd be good together and, when he first told me, I was sure that your relationship had to be toxic as hell. But you _are_ good together. You're good for him, I think, and he opens up to you in ways he just doesn't with us."

"It's because I get it. He isn't hiding it from you, necessarily, and he isn't keeping things out of spite. It's just one of those things… You can only really understand if it's happened to you and I get it. That doesn't mean he doesn't trust you, though, and that doesn't mean you aren't still his best friend." Draco was not good with emotions, usually, but he was very good at reading people and he saw the thoughts written in the Gryffindor's face. She gave him a pained little smile.

"I'm glad he trusts you, Draco, and I mean that. I know we haven't really talked much since you both came back to school—and we don't need to, at least not right now—but you aren't the person I thought you were. I'm not saying that I forgive you, but I can appreciate the person you are for Harry. He's a good judge of character, and I think I'm beginning to see what he sees in you."

It sounded so intense and so sincere, but Hermione was looking directly at him now. She looked slightly nervous, or a little uncertain, but she was confident in her words like always and Draco could appreciate that. He nodded to her, trying to remember the words so he could process them later when he wasn't so out of it.

"Thank you. I know we have a lot to talk about still when this is over and I hope we get that chance." He didn't say it like a dismissal, and he didn't say it like an empty promise. Maybe she heard the nihilism in his tone or maybe she could guess from the situation but she just nodded in acceptance of the not-quite promise. _If_ he made it out of this, they would talk. He would make sure of it.

Hermione was studying him now. It reminded him vaguely of the way a mindhealer might look at him from their stuffy leather chair but he didn't squirm under her gaze. Her face was neutral—completely blank—and he hated that he couldn't get a read on what she was thinking. But it didn't take long, thank Merlin, for her to speak.

"You really love him, don't you?" Their eyes met. A strange, grudging kind of respect seemed to weave its way into her tone. She almost looked… awed? It felt very, very strange but Draco was content to wait it out so long as she didn't start asking about anything dangerous. Slowly, Hermione chewed her lower lip.

"I underestimated you, Draco." He shrugged. Honestly, he was shocked that they were talking like friends at all. He definitely didn't expect anything close to an apology from her, not after everything they'd been through, but he appreciated the friendship. It felt reminiscent of Molly, actually. An acknowledgment that they had history, but a deeper appreciation and warped sort of respect for him because of what he meant to Harry. That thought was still foreign to him, but he wasn't going to refuse the olive branch. Now, of all times, he needed the company.

"Any chance you need help with Potions homework?" Hermione granted him a little smile, but let him change the subject and pulled out a roll of parchment from her bag. Draco doubted that there was any Potions homework or, if there was, that it was due anytime soon. But, it was something they had in common and it was something he was good at, so it was easy to fall back on, especially when he didn't have Harry. He didn't want to say it, but without his lion he was slightly scared of her.

"Yeah, actually, four feet for an essay on Polyjuice Potion." Draco had to snort, even if he covered it with a cough, but Hermione had clearly noticed.

"Right, because you wouldn't know anything about that." Her face bloomed into a smile when she realized what he was getting at, and she was clearly shocked that Harry had told him but she merely smiled at the page.

"Absolutely not, and I don't know how Snape expects any of us to, honestly. You'll help?" He smiled, but it wasn't a question really. It wasn't asking for help on a Potions assignment, and it wasn't even admitting a lack of knowledge to the enemy. It was Hermione, establishing their friendship without Harry. It was Hermione, reaching out and offering an platonic sort of peace, not for Harry's sake, but for his.

"Of course, Granger. You'd be lost without me, I suspect."


	12. Chapter Twelve

When Draco first woke, it was with a very distinct sense of  _ wrong _ . It took him a moment to recognize the hospital wing, and another few seconds for him to realize that it was empty. Where was Minnie? He didn’t really care where the other students went, or even where Pomfrey or Snape had gone, but Minnie was his stand-in Harry for the moment and the thought of losing her… Wait, where was Harry?

“ _ Lion? _ ” There was silence, though. His own voice echoed back at him off the stone walls, mocking him for daring to hope that Harry was hiding somewhere in the giant room. Fuck, where  _ was _ he?! Draco tried to breathe—tried to remember the way Harry had taught him to stop the panic attacks, before they started—but he couldn’t do it. Oxygen suddenly felt like needles in his lungs. 

But then he heard a scream. 

Merlin, he begged everything and everyone he could think of to let it be someone else—some first year, maybe, or a fourth year who had gotten too aggressive with the Devil’s Snare—but he knew that voice better than he knew his own. Harry. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was up. The bindings and restraints clinked against the bed frame, but Draco didn’t stop to consider how he’d suddenly broken out of them. The only thing that mattered was Harry. 

He ran. That was a huge mistake, apparently, because he had neither the balance nor the strength to do it well but he made it across the room before he had to grab at the wall for support. The next section of his sprint was much less graceful. One hand on the wall, two feet on the ground, he was honestly just trying to stay upright long enough to catch sight of his lion. Fuck, Harry had to be okay. 

Draco kept running, and he wasn’t sure where he was even going anymore, let alone if it was the right way, but he couldn’t stop. Harry had screamed. He knew that voice and he knew that sound and it was his lion, no doubt. He couldn’t stop until he knew that Harry was okay. His legs burned and blood was trickling down from his wrists where the restraints had bit into his skin, but he kept pushing. Past the gawking younger students, past the gossiping paintings. Honestly, he didn’t even know what part of the castle he was in anymore, and he didn’t know if he’d gone merely a few feet or miles at this point he just knew that he had to find Harry. 

“Someone get Pomfrey!” The yell registered, but Draco kept running. Why the hell was Harry out of the infirmary and why the  _ hell _ had no one told him!? He wanted to swear and he might have, if he wasn’t so out of breath, but, suddenly, he had to screech to a halt to avoid a collision with half the student body. Why were they all gathered around? Draco didn’t like it, and it looked like someone had gotten into a pretty nasty duel but… Merlin, he was going to  _ kill  _ that boy if he’d duelled someone. 

“ _ Lion? _ ” No answer, but Draco hadn’t expected one. He could see two bodies on the floor—one unconscious, and one restrained. If Harry had gotten himself killed… No, Draco wouldn’t let himself think about that right now because he had to get through the throngs of people and be sure. Politeness didn’t work. When people did turn to acknowledge him, they just gaped with wide eyes until he eventually pushed through them. So that was how this was going to go? Fine. 

“Depulso!” Even without his wand, he managed to make a sizeable gap in the crowd and he rushed through it. Finally, he was at the center! Sure enough, the two bodies were both alive but Draco only needed one glance at the unconscious one to know that it was Harry. Fury rose up in his throat like bile. He would kill whoever had dared hurt his lion, regardless of who had started it! Halfway to the perpetrator, though, Draco was yanked back by the collar of his robes and met with a very stern, very angry looking Minnie. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Even in his current rage, the anger in Minnie’s face still managed to make him shrink back in fear. “Heal him, let me deal with her.” Her? So the person who had done this was female, then? But Minnie was already pushing him back towards Harry, who was looking pale where he was lying on the ground, and mumbled about stress after trauma. He didn’t need to be told twice. 

“ _ Lion, hey, can you hear me? Are you okay? _ ” Draco felt stupid asking that question but he had to, if only to see if Harry would respond. Though unconscious, Harry twitched a bit. That was enough, in Draco’s opinion, to warrant collapsing down onto the stone beside him and running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Slow, easy touches. Minnie seemed to be trying to calm everyone down and clear the corridor but it wasn’t working because the Slytherins were practically revolting—even against Snape—and the Gryffindors were meeting the challenge. Instead of one duel, it was suddenly hundreds. Spells flew overhead and Draco had half a mind to run for it, dragging Harry with him, but he knew they wouldn’t make it. Shit! He didn’t know how to make a shield big enough for the both of them!

He was out of options. Honestly, he was content to just lay down and use his own body as a human shield, but he couldn’t help imagining the one Harry had built them. The soft, swirling wisps of blue and yellow that had been strong enough to protect them from aurors. Fuck, if he was just better at making up spells on the spot then he could—

Why was the hallway suddenly silent? Draco’s head shot up and he paused, taking in the dozens of wide eyes and the open mouths that were facing him now, but he settled on Minnie. She didn’t look upset—so clearly nothing bad had happened, right? Still, she was staring at him and it was unnerving to say the least until he realized that her eyes were resting just a few inches above his head. He braced himself, and looked up. 

A huge, cascading wall of yellow and blue was arching over him and Harry, cutting them off from everyone in the corridor and ricochetting spells like a damn mirror. Draco couldn’t breathe. In his arms, he felt Harry begin to relax and there was a very sharp, very distinct smell in the air but… How the hell had he managed to make the shield? It was identical to the one Harry had conjured, at least as far as Draco could remember, but he stared at it with the same awe that everyone else seemed to have. 

“Stop it! Stop it right now you’re—” Pomfrey stopped, halfway to the shield. “Not... Doing anything…” She stared at them, too, and frowned as she studied the shield like it, in itself, was some kind of ailment. Was it? He had never stopped to consider how Harry had cast the shield in the first place. If anyone was going to have some kind of fucked up chemical imbalance that randomly created shields, though, it was Harry Potter so Draco couldn’t say he was surprised. After a while, the weird shit just became more an annoyance than a fascination. 

“Where is his wand?” Draco shrugged, but Minnie motioned to Harry’s robes. Wait, when had Harry gotten his wand back? And why  _ him _ ? Granted, Harry hadn’t been the one to murder someone via Unforgivable Curse in front of a few hundred witnesses, but still! Clearly, the Gryffindor was the more irresponsible one because he’d just gotten into a duel! At least  _ that _ Draco would not have done. 

“Draco, let down the shield.” It was Minnie’s voice—calm, collected, and ever the maternal figure—that managed to break him out of his inner thoughts. He started to relax, honestly, and felt the shield coming down, but then he saw Snape out of the corner of his eye moving quickly along the wall and he immediately threw it back up. The shield visibly thickened. 

“Draco, let go of Harry and let down the shield.” Pomfrey, that time, but Draco had his eyes on his godfather and he was not budging. Somehow, this was Snape’s fault. He didn’t know how, yet, and he couldn’t prove it but he knew the man had to have had something to do with this. It was too perfect to be a coincidence, even in the life of Harry James Potter. Wordlessly, he shook his head. 

“Draco, can you let me in then? So I can make sure Harry isn’t hurt?” Minnie again. He trusted Minnie—truly—and he knew how much she loved his lion so he nodded. Never mind the fact that he had no idea how to let someone through the shield, and even less of an idea how to make it person-specific. He hoped, though, and then Minnie was beside him. She did a few quick recovery spells and motioned for Draco to shift the limp body in his arms—but not to let go. It was Minnie, so he obeyed, but the second his hand was off of Harry’s stomach the shield went down. Hopefully, it looked intentional. 

“Draco, what did you…?” He shook his head that he didn’t know and, thank Merlin, that was enough for Minnie to understand. Before he could even blink she’d whisked them both back to the hospital wing. Draco almost collapsed with relief—or maybe exhaustion, it was debatable—but he caught sight of his shattered restraints just as Minnie and Pomfrey did and he did not miss the looks they gave him. He did ignore them, though, and merely sat in the chair beside Harry’s bed. 

“ _ Idiot _ ,” He finally mumbled, watching the two women confer without him. “ _ Couldn’t even stay out of trouble for a day, could you? You’re impossible, Potter. _ ”

“ _ You love it. _ ” Draco jumped, only to see Harry’s expression twist into a small smile. His eyes were still closed and the women watching over them thankfully missed Draco’s reaction, but nevertheless he swore. 

“ _ Fuck you! Have you been awake this whole time? Was it you that cast the shield? I swear on Salazar Slytherin if you— _ ” Harry squeezed his hand, though, to shut him up.

“ _ Hey, calm down. I’ve only been awake for a minute or two—enough to hear you bitching over there like a pouty little kid is all. What shield? Why did we need a shield? _ ” Well shit. That didn’t help solve the mystery in the slightest, though Draco was secretly glad that Harry hadn’t been faking it before. He really would have killed the Gryffindor for that. But, for right now, Harry was recovering and Draco felt like he might pass out if he blinked for too long so he squished onto the bed beside his lion and let out the breath he’d been holding.

“ _ Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later but we’re safe for right now. I don’t think you can be stupid and unconscious at the same time, so just don’t wake up before me okay? _ ” Harry snorted and ruffled his hair, but Draco could already tell he was fading. Merlin he must have been hit with some rough spells…

“ _ Whatever you say, little dragon. Whatever you say. _ ” Harry was asleep, then, and Draco could tell from his breathing that it was a deep sleep but that didn’t stop his mouth. 

“ _ Damn right whatever I say. I’m not the one who goes around starting fights when I haven’t even healed from the last one. From now on, our entire relationship should just be whatever I say because I’m clearly the only one who can actually think through my actions. Fucking Gryffindors… You’re lucky you’re pretty. _ ” 


	13. Chapter 13

So, apparently breaking out of spelled restraints and running to Harry’s aid qualified Draco for the glorious title of ‘flight risk’. He’d sneered the first time he’d heard it but, since the Ministry was still deciding how to handle their case and had been silent in terms of how to handle them, it was left to the discretion of the Aurors and Minnie. She’d pushed the boundaries for them where she could, thankfully, but even she was limited now. 

Which, Draco supposed, was only fair. As much as he loved Minnie, she was a Headmistress first and foremost so it only made sense that her duty was to Hogwarts and the safety of all the other students. He didn’t blame her for that, either. Draco rarely took the time to be self reflective but he’d had nothing but time for the last six days and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. 

When had he stopped blaming people or holding grudges? He could remember blaming Pansy for things in their first or second year… but since then? Somehow, within that time, everything had slowly become his fault and his responsibility so, he realized, he’d begun to take it off of other people. Harry would call it something scientific like ‘emotional overcompensation’ but Draco just called it annoying. He didn’t need any more pressure in his life, least of all from himself. 

Hogwarts, to everyone’s surprise, did not have any type of holding cell—even in the dungeon—that was suitable for containing two potential criminals. Minnie had thrown the temper tantrum of a lifetime, yelling and threatening full grown adults like they were students she could expel, when Aurors had suggested moving them both to the Ministry for temporary incarceration. Draco was grateful, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt if he thought about it for too long. Minnie had dropped her entire appearance and reputation to keep them at Hogwarts, where Death Eaters couldn’t reach them. He hated that they’d put her in that position. 

“ _ You awake, little dragon? _ ” The whisper filtered in through the crack in the door and Draco hauled himself to his feet. Parseltongue was remarkable. He’d heard about it’s persistence before, of course, and he’d spent hours studying what little was known about it but he’d never really believed the rumors. People said it could cling to the air itself and take shape, moving through space like some kind of serpent. Draco had never seen it do that—honestly, most rumors were rubbish—but it certainly carried quite well. 

The Aurors had cast hundreds of wards and spells on this section of the castle, banning all snakes and living creatures aside from themselves. Harry had said that they didn’t want them to be able to communicate, but clearly that hadn’t worked. Six days in, the Aurors were ready to throttle them. 

“ _ Yeah, I’m up. Want to play? _ ” He already knew Harry would say yes. There were no cells in Hogwarts, true, but the Aurors had improvised with two unused classrooms in one of the farthest corners of the dungeons and compensated with charms. The walls were impenetrable, they said, and no one but the Aurors could get to them. They’d warded and charmed a six room radius in all directions, including six floors up and six floors down, as if Draco might get the Slytherins to help him somehow now that he was in the dungeons. Neither he nor Harry cared, though. 

“ _ Sure, you ready? _ ” The only true benefit to being in an unused classroom, aside from the desks-turned-cots that littered the space, was the chalkboard. He grabbed a piece that he’d found in one of the drawers and began to sketch. Sixty-four squares, eight by eight. It was definitely not the most exciting part of the game, but he at least made them somewhat neat. Harry’s board, he could imagine, was full of rushed scribbly lines and circle-square hybrids. 

“ _ I’m ready. Pawn to G3. _ ” He erased and moved his pawn up, assessing the board, as he waited for Harry to do the same. 

“ _ Pawn to F5 _ .” Again, he erased and corrected.

“ _ Knight to F3 _ .” 

“ _ Pawn to D6 _ .” Draco had to smile. Harry was not good at chess—he’d said that from the very beginning—but he’d been getting steadily better over the last six days and was beginning to play both offensive and defensive rather than just randomly moving pieces. It was an improvement, at least. 

“ _ Pawn to B3. _ ”

“ _ Pawn to C5 _ .” For six days, now, they’d been playing like this. Their voices barely a whisper, their cells/classrooms on opposite ends of the corridor, with nothing but chalk and a chalkboard. It had started small with games of hangman or tic-tac-toe but they’d quickly grown bored with things that could end so quickly. After all, it wasn’t like there was anything else to do. 

“ _ Don’t get too defensive, lion. Knight to C3. _ ” Harry didn’t respond right away, but Draco knew by now that was only because he was thinking—not because he was upset. The time apart hadn’t been easy, of course, but little games like this helped. It had been fun, at first, to watch the Aurors standing guard try to figure out how the hell they were communicating with each other. They’d cast about a million different silencing and muffling charms, so English was out, but so far they’d yet to find one that worked on Parseltongue. Honestly, Draco wasn’t sure that such a thing existed. 

“ _ Queen to A5. _ ” 

“ _ You sure you want to bring out a piece that powerful so soon in the game, lion?”  _

“ _ I’m sure. _ ” Draco grinned, even as he surveyed the board. He didn’t really care who won, honestly, because he was kicking Harry’s ass no matter how they kept score but he was excited to teach. Harry was getting more confident. Even just a day ago, a comment like that would have made the Gryffindor second guess his entire strategy and take back his move but now he didn’t even blink. Merlin, his confidence was intoxicating. 

“ _ Pawn to D4 _ .” 

“ _ You sure you want to keep using your puny little pawns when I’ve got my badass queen out on the board, little dragon? _ ” He had to laugh, even if he stifled it. Outside, he heard a few guards stir and the grate over his door opened, but he ignored it. They could watch all they wanted. Draco could speak without opening his mouth more than a tiny bit at one side and he’d heard them talking to one another in the corridor, trying to figure out how he and Harry were communicating. It was fun, honestly. With all the spells they’d put up—completely confident that it would work on all sound, not just on certain languages—they were down to a mental kind of connection. 

“They’re doing it again. Chess, I think.” It was chess, though Draco didn’t take offense because his pieces were scribbled and just for him. As long as he knew what they were, then it was fine. Another Auror grumbled outside the door, even as the first one continued to watch him. 

“ _ I’m sure, lion. Might want to protect your rook, though. _ ” It was a lie. Harry’s rooks were both blocked in and, subsequently, protected but he’d began making comments like that now that Harry was improving. His lion was learning to question him, to make his own judgment calls, and Draco loved it. 

“ _ Queen to C3, your pawn is dead. Also check. _ ” Draco had to do a double take. Check? Sure enough, though, he was in check and he could practically feel Harry’s smug little grin through the door. The Auror watching him grumbled again. 

“Fucking telepathic or something…” Another grunted in agreement, but the grate closed before he could hear more. Draco still laughed every time he heard them throw that theory around, no matter how convinced they seemed to be. He and Harry were close, but they were not telepathic. Maybe they had some kind of mental bond that they weren’t aware of but they definitely were not playing chess via each other’s minds. 

“ _ Queen to D2, you up for a swap? _ ” Harry would do it. He already knew that the Gryffindor would take every single chance for a kill that he was given, no matter the consequences, because he was just so…  _ Gryffindor. _

“Food.” A tray slid unceremoniously through the hatch in his door but Draco barely glanced at it. Pomfrey had not been able to convince the Aurors—yet—that he and Harry needed to be in the hospital wing so they were left to their little prison classrooms with slop from the kitchens. He didn’t mind, though. Many of the elves that now worked in the kitchens had, at one time or another, worked for a pureblood family and they despised Lucius. Killing him, in their minds, made Draco a hero. Therefore, the slop looked and smelled terrible but was actually a delicious honey and nutmeg blend of oatmeal. It changed, daily, though their guards didn’t know that. He was unbelievably grateful.

“ _ Queen to A1, your rook is dead. _ ” Wait, what? Since when did Harry not take a kill? His rook? Well, shit. Draco marked it on his board and grabbed his slop, eating as he thought. Was Harry secretly good at chess? He’d never seemed very logical or strategic in his daily life or classwork, but maybe he’d been holding out? Draco tried desperately to remember whether or not he’d ever seen Hermione teaching him the game. 

“ _ Bishop to H3. You wanna tell me what that fight was about yet? _ ” Maybe distracting him would help? Draco really was not on his game if he was already losing to the Gryffindor, but being emotional always seemed to hinder his lion’s logic. Fingers crossed it would work this time…

“ _ Knight to H6. You already know what the fight was about, don’t try to distract me. _ ” Well damn, alright. That wasn’t going to work in the subtle way that Draco had been hoping it would but maybe this was still salvageable? He took another spoonful of oatmeal and considered the board. 

“ _ Pawn to A4. I know you gave me the gist of it but tell me again. I want to understand. _ ” That was bullshit, but he was hoping that Harry would be too focused to see it. Worth a shot, right? He could  _ feel _ Harry thinking, even through the wards, and he tried not to let that thought get to him. Maybe there was some kind of connection? Was that really such a crazy idea? Surely weird magical shit happened all the time and Harry was just like some kind of beacon for it or something. 

“ _ Knight to A6. I know what you’re trying to do, little dragon, and I’m not going to fall for it. I was on my way up to Gryffindor Tower to get a change of clothes— _ ”

“ _ To get that damn map, you mean. Knight to H4 _ .”

“ _ Knight to B4. I was on my way back when I ran into your little gang—” _

_ “Former gang. Knight to F5, takes pawn. _ ”

“ _ Former gang, whatever, either way they weren’t too thrilled to see me. Pansy and a few others had their wands out, making jokes about you and me. Knight to F5, takes your knight. _ ” Damn. Draco had been hoping he would be able to distract the Gryffindor if they played mid-conversation but apparently he was the one who was getting distracted. 

“ _ And Pomfrey just let you wander around the castle like that? Bishop to F5, takes your knight. _ ” 

“ _ Well, no… But she didn’t say I specifically couldn’t. Besides! It was in the middle of classes so I wasn’t going to run into anyone anyways. Bishop to F5, takes your bishop. You’re getting sloppy, little dragon. _ ” He was. With any other person, that thought would have terrified him to his very core. He didn’t get sloppy, not even in chess, because sloppy meant being distracted or having your guard down and Draco Malfoy did not do either of those things. Except with Harry, apparently. 

“ _ It’s part of a grander plan, don’t worry your pretty little head,” _ It wasn’t, but Harry didn’t need to know that. _ “So you were out in the halls during classes, without permission, because you wanted to get something that you’re not even supposed to have. Sounds like you’re really using that brain of yours, sweetheart. Pawn to C3.”  _ Stupid Gryffindors. Harry was lucky that they’d been separated when they had because they’d fallen asleep before Draco could yell at him. That hadn’t stopped him, of course, but the effect was muted when it was from the other end of a corridor. 

“ _ Oh, shut up. Anyways, Pansy was absolutely livid for some reason—” _

_ “Because you called her a pathetic Death Eater.” _

_ “Okay maybe that had something to do with it but she deserved it, I swear! The stuff she was saying about you, dragon, I couldn’t just let it go!” _ No, of course not, Draco couldn’t help thinking—but he kept it to himself. “ _ So then Pansy’s wand is at my throat and I wanted to do something but I knew it would look bad if I cast the first spell so I waited. _ ” Draco couldn’t decide if he was proud or upset by that statement. He’d heard it before, in the countless retellings he’d demanded, but it still didn’t quite sit right. Yes, it would have looked very bad for them if Harry had been caught out of bed, with the map, dueling with another student, and casting the first curse. However, Draco did  _ not _ like the idea of Harry getting hurt, let alone waiting for it. He was still torn, so he didn’t comment on it. 

“ _ It’s your move, but keep going. _ ”

“ _ Knight to C2. Take it, I dare you, and you’re in check. But, anyways, so Pansy hits me with a bat-bogey jinx and I have my wand at the ready so I cast a stunning spell, thinking I’ll be able to get away before she can recover. Apparently Slytherins don’t play fair, though— _

_ “I’ve told you a hundred times that they don’t care about honor the way you do. King to D1.” _

_ “I know, I just… They surprised me is all. I’m a good dueler, you know that better than anyone, but four against one aren’t really great odds no matter the situation. I heard at least a couple pretty bad curses that I know are against the rules but we have no proof. I got off a couple good spells, though. Bishop to E4.”  _ A couple good spells… Draco wanted to wring his neck even now at the thought of him trying to duel four Slytherins at once. Slytherins! The only students in the entire school, probably, who were trained in forbidden magic and how to hide it. Honestly…

“ _ You completely incapacitated two of them, lion, and you stunned a third. I wouldn’t call that ‘a couple good spells’. Pansy’s always been good at blocking, though, because she trained with me growing up. You couldn’t have known. Pawn to F3.” _

“ _ Bishop to F3, your pawn is dead. I know she’s good at defensive spells I just didn’t know she was  _ that _ good. And, well, you got there not much after that and you saw what happened—” _

_ “I saw me saving your ass, you mean. Pawn to F3, takes your bishop. _ ” Draco could almost feel Harry’s annoyed little chuckle, but there was no way in hell he was going to lose this game just because he was sassy. 

“ _ Yes, thank you Draco for saving my ass. How many times am I going to have to say that? Pawn to G3.” _

_ “As many times as it takes for the message to sink in. Not even a day after the biggest crime we’ve ever committed and you’re starting duels in random hallways! Honestly, what did you even want that stupid map for in the first place? Queen to C2, takes your knight. _ ” 

“ _ I didn’t just want the map, little dragon, and it was for us. _ ” Wait, what? Draco waited, but Harry didn’t say anything more. It was for them? What was that supposed to mean?

“ _ For us? _ ”

“ _ Bishop to G7. Yes for us, you git, why else would I take a risk like that? It was a backup plan. I had the cloak, too, and it was in case the Ministry didn’t rule the way we want them to—in case we have to run with no warning. _ ” Draco honestly couldn’t breathe for a second. He’d expected something like that as a rationale for originally leaving—maybe to get potions, or something like that—but he hadn’t expected it to sound so… real. 

Hearing those words from his lion’s lips, even if they were far away, was sobering. What if the Ministry didn’t rule the way they wanted it to? What if the plan didn’t work? Honestly, he’d been praying for so hard and so long that this would all work out, he hadn’t even considered a backup plan. The plan  _ had  _ to work. It had to, because if it didn’t… Then what? 

It wasn’t like him to not have a backup plan—he usually had at least seven, if not more—but he’d just kind of assumed their situation was black and white. It worked, or he would change his story, take the blame, and his lion would still go free. But another option? Where they still got out and stayed together? Maybe Harry really was the more strategic one out of them two of them. 

“ _ Pawn to B4. I’m sorry, lion, I shouldn’t have doubted you. Why didn’t you just tell me that from the beginning, though? You know I would have had your back. Hell, I would have helped even.” _ There was a long beat of silence that pounded into him like some kind of invisible fist. Had Harry not trusted him? That thought alone made his stomach churn and twist in horrible ways that he had to hold to make it stop. 

“ _ I know you would have. Take a breath, I’m not saying I don’t trust you or that I didn’t want your help—I did. We were both already in hot water, though, and if anyone could afford to take the fall it was me. I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to have plausible deniability if they brought in Veritaserum. That’s the only reason, little dragon. Pawn to B4, takes your pawn.” _ Stupid self-sacrificing Gryffindor… Draco wanted to be angry, he really did, but his body was still trying to process the relief of realizing his lion still trusted him. Plus, he was still trying to win the game. 

“ _ Pawn to B4, takes your pawn. If you’d let me help, you might not have gotten caught. _ ”

“ _ Bishop to D4, takes your pawn. If I’d let you help, the Ministry would have had an excuse to distrust your testimony. We need that if there’s any hope for this plan working. _ ” He was right. Harry was right and he knew it, which made him insufferably sure of everything he was saying. But he was right. 

“ _ You don’t always have to put yourself second, you know. Pawn to F4. _ ” Focus on the game… If he focused on the game then he wouldn’t think too hard about the conversation they were having and he wouldn’t have a panic attack. Not that he had a reason to, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter to his body. 

“ _ I don’t put myself second, I just put you first—there’s a difference. Pawn to F4, takes your pawn.”  _ Draco scowled at the board, but it was less at the game and more at Harry. Didn’t he understand that putting others first was a death wish? That was kind of hypocritical to say in Draco’s position, but Harry didn’t need to know that.

“ _ Well, you don’t have to always put me first, then. Pawn to F4, takes your pawn.” _

_ “I don’t have to, but I will. I protect you, little dragon, or have you forgotten? Rook to F8.” _

_ “You’re not protecting me right now. Rook to F1.”  _ Harry must have made a noise because the sound of metal clashing broke the silence. An Auror yelled something, but it was muffled by the charms. 

“ _ No, but I should be given how sloppy you’re being. Rook to F5.”  _ Ouch. Harry was getting better with his trash talk, at least. And he wasn’t wrong—Draco was being sloppy, and uncharacteristically so, but he didn’t really mind. It didn’t feel as much like a weakness with his lion as it normally did. 

“ _ Careful what you wish for. Queen to F5, takes your Rook.” _

_“Queen to C1, takes your Bishop. Check. Don’t get too cocky yet, little dragon. One day you might have to put your money where your mouth is.”_ Draco stifled another laugh, earning a sharp bang on his door, but he didn’t care. 

“ _ Oh, it isn’t money that I put there, lion. You’re the one who shouldn’t be cocky, though. King to C1, takes your Queen. _ ” Harry swore, in Parseltongue, but Draco just laughed. He was improving, definitely, but he was by no means a master. 

“ _ Dammit. Bishop to E3, check. I swear to god if you beat me again—” _

_ “Then what? What are you going to do to me from six rooms away? King to D1. _ ” He knew he should keep his mouth shut but… It was just too fun to mess with him. They’d been locked down there for almost a week now and he was going to take any source of enjoyment that he could find, even if it was just aggravating his lion. 

“ _ I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Pawn to E5. _ ” Oooh veiled threats now? It was supposed to be a warning but Draco couldn’t help smirking. There wasn’t much his lion could do with all the walls and wards between them, so he felt pretty safe in his torment. 

“ _ Hmm now I’m intrigued. Queen to H7, takes your pawn. _ ” He was interested, honestly, because if Harry had a way to somehow get through the wards, even just for a second, then they were using it. True, no physical contact for six days wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like it sometimes. Draco had tried to keep his mind off it with games like this. Harry had been the first, and only, touch he’d ever welcomed though so it was hard to go from constant contact to not even seeing each other. He shook his head, though, and focused on the board. 

“ _ Anytime now, sweetheart. I’m curious what happens when I kick your ass for the millionth time.” _ He waited, listening for some kind of muffled sound to indicate that the guards were talking to him or distracting him somehow, but it was silent. Granted, that was kind of the idea behind the wards. He glanced back to his chalk masterpiece of a chessboard, but there really weren’t that many options left for either of them. Was Harry really taking that long to think about it?

“ _ I’d recommend protecting your king if I were you, Lion. _ ” Draco waited again, counting the seconds and trying not to overthink it. Harry was just thinking. They were playing a strategic game for crying out loud! Or maybe this was the punishment that Harry had had in mind? Granted, he hadn’t lost yet so that didn’t make a lot of sense. 

“ _ Lion? You still there? _ ” Nothing. Draco forced himself to take a deep breath and remember the situation. Harry was completely safe, in one of the most well-guarded places on earth, and they were both constantly being listened to. There was no way that someone had gotten through all that security. There just wasn’t.

“ _ Lion, I get it. This is your punishment and you’re right, you win, it’s working. I’ll let you win, just answer me. _ ” But there was just the faint echo of his own words back at him. Okay… This was fine. He tried to tell himself that he’d just been taken to interrogation again or something but the guards had been dead silent. Pomfrey had cleared him after the duel and said there was very little lasting damage, if any. Everything was fine, and he was panicking for no reason, right?

“ _ Harry, I’m not kidding. Answer me, please. _ ” Silence. “ _ Answer me dammit! _ ” He made it to the door before the bang even came but he didn’t care if the Aurors yelled at him, now. Something was wrong. This wasn’t a pointless panic attack and, even if it was, Draco couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute terror in his gut. Harry was okay, Harry was okay, Harry was okay… Fuck it.

“Hey! Hey you! Open the damn hatch!” He pounded his fist against the door and screamed until the little grate revealed itself. “Something’s wrong! I need—”

“You’re not getting out, so save it.” The Auror moved to shut the grate again, but he couldn’t let that happen. He stuffed his fingers through the squares and let the metal slam on them. Merlin, the crunch of bone brought back so many memories… The pain hadn’t kicked in yet and his body was still in shock but he managed to throw up twice before he could speak again. Aurors were starting to gather now. 

“Listen to me! Listen, something is wrong! He— Fuck just someone check on him! Please! Please, I’m begging you! I don’t want out, I don’t even want Pomfrey just please! Someone make sure he’s okay!” The Aurors looked at each other, though the first was still staring at his fingers. They were starting to swell, now, and two were bent the wrong way but he didn’t care or try to pull them back through, in case they tried to shut the grate again. Finally, one of the men started down the hall towards Harry’s classroom/cell. 

“Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong…” That was all he could say, over and over again, as he waited for the footsteps to stop. They banged on the door, but there was no answer. He heard the grate open, but still nothing. Pain started to shoot up his arm in little jolts but that wasn’t what the tears were for. Harry had to be okay, didn’t he? 

“Nikohls get down here!” Another Auror jogged out of view, but Draco wanted to scream at him to sprint. Something was wrong. If Harry died because some Auror was too lazy to run, Draco was going to fucking riot. 

“Danvers! Get the mediwitch! Someone find McGonagall!” Oh no… Draco couldn’t decide if hearing those orders was good or bad. It meant that something was wrong—that he’d been correct—but Merlin if Harry was dead… No, he wouldn’t let himself think that. People began to run, dashing from task to task, but Draco couldn’t really see them through the tears. His hand felt like a thousand tiny spikes were driving through it to the bone and he wanted to scream but his voice was too choked. Harry had to be okay, didn’t he? He was the Boy Who Lived not the boy-who-died-unexpectedly-in-a-dungeon. 

“Something’s wrong… Something’s wrong…” They knew that now, clearly, and no one was listening to him anymore but he couldn’t stop saying it. His vision was fading, his entire body threatening to collapse. It wasn’t like he could, though, with his hand still in the grate. Salazar Slytherin where was Minnie?

Somewhere between the yelling and the movement, Draco started to slip. Everything felt distant, suddenly, and their voices melded and distorted until they sounded like some kind of animal rather than English. Now was not the time to pass out, and he knew that, but… No, he had to make sure that Harry was okay before he put himself in a coma or something. 

“Draco! Merlin, Draco, what happened to your—no, don’t answer that. Someone unlock this damn door right now!” No one came, but he recognized the voice enough to pry his eyes open. Minnie, thank Merlin. He could only see a blurry outline of her face as she pressed it as close to the grate as she could, but she kept her voice calm.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, Draco, just stay with me.” He wanted to ask about Harry, to demand to know what had happened or who had hurt him, but his voice wouldn’t work. All that managed to escape was a strangled little mmph. Somehow, Minnie seemed to understand him, though. 

“He’s okay, he’s okay, Pomfrey’s with him now and he’s stable. I don’t know what happened yet, but he’s stable and he’s going to be okay so just breathe, Draco. Can I at least temporarily heal your hand?” Wait, what? Why wouldn’t she be allowed to heal his hand? His brain was slow and groggy at best, trying desperately to think through the sludge of pain that was overtaking his body, but it still took him a minute. She was asking if she could use magic on him. She’d remembered how terrified he was of other people’s wands raising in his direction, she’d remembered how far his lion was, and she was asking permission to use magic on him. 

“Please…” It wasn’t a cry for relief—honestly—but it must have sounded enough like one that Minnie caved. She raised her wand, careful to keep it just out of his line of sight. His body seized, and he tried to panic even though his mind kept telling him that it was Minnie and Minnie would never hurt him because Minnie loved them both but… 

“See, you’re okay. I know it hurts right now but you’ll be okay and so will he.” The lock clicked, then, and the door swung inward, his hand still attached, but he barely registered the movement. Harry was okay. If Minnie said he was okay, then he had to be okay, didn’t he? Aurors were flooding around them and Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, which meant that she was still with Harry, but Minnie was healing his hand well enough. They must have lifted at least some of the wards, he thought, if she could do magic. 

“Draco, this is going to hurt a lot but I can’t do magic on the grate because of all the spells so I’m going to have to pull it off. It’s going to hurt, but I promise I can heal you completely the second it’s off. Don’t panic on me, okay?” He didn’t nod—he couldn’t—but she didn’t seem to mind. She yanked, he screamed, and then it was over. White hot pain flared all over his body, radiating through him like shocks of the Cruciatus curse, but he didn’t care because Minnie had healed him immediately, true to her word, and was stroking his hair. His body had yet to realize that he’d been healed, but as long as she didn’t let go it didn’t matter. 

Somehow, he’d ended up on the floor of his cell. Minnie was on the floor with him, holding him up and gently rocking them back and forth as she smoothed his hair. He was sobbing, half from the pain and half from something else. People were yelling at each other and running back and forth like they were responding to some horrible accident—the thought made him want to throw up all over again. He didn’t, though. Minnie hushed him and told him to close his eyes, that she would tell him the second he could see Harry, and he did. It was only half voluntary, though. 

Even with his eyes closed, he could hear people talking. Their voices were distant and not quite real to his mind but he heard them nonetheless.  _ Miracle… Telepathic… Saved his life… Raspberries… Did you see his hand? _ Each word rattled around in his skull, not really registering in any particular order, but he heard the important one. Raspberries. Harry was allergic to raspberries. Had someone given him raspberries? How would they have even known…

Oh. Draco had told them. He’d told the entire Gryffindor table that Harry was allergic to raspberries—though he’d thought it was a mild allergy and had exaggerated the dying part. They’d probably told the whole damn school. He was the reason that Harry had almost died— _ again.  _ That burned deeper than any healing spell could reach and, if he could have bashed his head against the wall, he would have. As it was, his body fought the feeling and he threw up again. 

Minnie just held his head and vanished the mess as soon as it came, smoothing his hair and muttering about being in shock. Maybe he was in shock, but that wasn’t what was eating at him now. Ugh, eating at him… Poor choice of words. He heaved again, though there was nothing left in his stomach, but Minnie just rubbed his back.

“It’s okay, Draco, it’s all okay now. You saved his life, we got to him in time, just breathe. You’re both okay.” He shook his head as violently as he could, making the floor spin and the walls contort, but Minnie just shushed him. Her touch and her voice managed to feel just maternal enough that it let his body relax, but his mind was whirling. He hadn’t saved Harry. For what felt like the twentieth time that week, he’d been the reason Harry had almost died. 

His mouth tried desperately to tell her that, to explain why he couldn’t just relax and why she should just kill him now, but his throat closed before he could. He wanted to beg her to kill him. Even if he wasn’t threatening Harry with a killing curse, he’d put his lion in a life or death situation so many times now that it felt like he might as well have. Merlin, was it always going to be this way? His mind tried to reason with him but his chest ached and his entire body was shaking like he’d been cursed. Minnie was speaking, telling him to calm down and asking him to breathe with her, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. 

Her voice, reassuring him, was the last thing that he heard before the world went black. 


	14. Chapter 14

That night, Draco dreamed. He was vaguely aware of time passing, though he couldn’t say how much, but he knew the setting had changed. His eyes still refused to open and his mind never let him have more than a second-long glimpse of his surroundings, but they were different and that was enough. It was the way the sounds echoed that told him they were back in the hospital wing. Fitting, considering he’d smashed up his hand and Harry had almost died. 

Harry had almost died… 

Those words just didn’t fit together in that order—though they did, because it was true and because Harry was on the verge of dying just about every day now, it seemed. They might as well have been cursed. It burned under his skin and the thought that his lion was in some kind of constant danger wriggled at the back of his mind, even as he dismissed it. Minnie said they were fine—so they were fine, right? His gut screamed otherwise but he knew he had a habit of being paranoid so he tried to ignore it.

“Draco? Are you awake?” His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up but something stopped him. There were thick leather straps all over him, now, pinning him to the cot and restraining everything but his head. He made a fist, but his hand was still healed so he reasoned that they really had been rescued in time. That was a relief, at least. 

“I’m awake. What do you want, Granger?” For a second, he forgot to be civil. Just for a tiny fraction of a moment, he forgot that it wasn’t him and Harry against the world and he snapped at her. But, evidently, he wasn’t that threatening when he was strapped to a bed. Hermione just sighed. 

“I need to know something— _ we _ need to know something and… I knew you would want to talk to Harry but it was me or Pomfrey and I thought I was the lesser of two evils.” This did not sound good. Anything that involved Hermione questioning him was a disaster in and of itself but the fact that Minnie wasn’t the one asking? He clenched his fist a little tighter and dug his nails into his palm. 

“What do you want to know? Is it about what happened before?” Hermione was sitting beside his bed in the little chair with parchment and a quill, no doubt for taking notes. Was she reporting back to the Ministry? It didn’t seem like her to go against Harry like that but if she thought he was the one who had poisoned him…?

“No, it’s about you actually.” Instantly, his stomach dropped and his throat threatened to close. He could talk about Harry for hours and he could debate anything from politics to Herbology with Hermione but talking about himself was out of the question. What could possibly be important enough for Minnie and Pomfrey to let her come in the first place?

“Draco, how did you learn Parseltongue?” Oh. His fist curled even tighter until his nails pierced the skin but he barely noticed. What was he supposed to say to that? His swore under his breath and begged every being he could think of to give him an answer, but there was just the incessant tap of Hermione’s waiting quill. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t know. That day was one of his clearest memories, and he doubted he could have forgotten it even if he’d tried. He’d been twelve, turning thirteen in just two days, when his father had called him down into the cellar of the Manor. Lucius had preached the benefits to him—how much it would help their family, how good it would be for him to be connected to the Dark Lord, how favorably it would be received—but he’d never actually said what  _ it _ was. 

“Why do you want to know?” Hermione didn’t look at all surprised by his question. She frowned a bit, but otherwise just continued doodling in one corner of the parchment as she spoke.

“I can’t tell you everything, yet, but the whole raspberry thing was at least partially magical. It’s possible that there’s a link between Harry and Voldemort that’s being abused, though Pomfrey doesn’t think it’s likely. The Aurors kept saying how you two were practically telepathic—how you shared a mental bond—”

“We’re not telepathic, we’re just quiet when we speak.” Hermione shrugged.

“They kept telling McGonagall and the Minister that you two shared a bond. It’s possible that someone could hurt him through that bond, if they could get to you.” Draco wanted to scream at her that he would never hurt Harry, even unconsciously, but he knew it wasn’t worth it. She wouldn’t listen, and even if she did it wouldn’t do anything. 

“You think I got the ability to speak Parseltongue from a bond with the Dark Lord.” It wasn’t a question, but Hermione still sighed and nodded. She at least had the decency to look sheepish about it, which he doubted any other interrogator would have, but it didn’t ease the sting of the accusation. 

“Well… did you?” Draco hissed. It wasn’t Parseltongue—it wasn’t even close—but Hermione still recoiled at the sound. As if he could threaten her from his current position. For years, now, he’d tried not to think about that night. He hadn’t even told Harry how he’d become a Parselmouth, though he’d asked multiple times. Usually, if he got too close to a panic attack his lion would drop it. 

“There was ritual.” His body was becoming more and more aware of the restraints by the second and he was struggling not to thrash against them, even if he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He tried to breathe, but the air smelled damp and musty like a basement now. In the darkness, it was easy to distort the shapes. Empty cots became tables of ingredients and supplies; the candles rose and flickered until they were a sickly kind of green.

“Draco? This is to help Harry, remember? Can you tell me about the ritual?” He swallowed hard and stared at the ceiling, willing the floor to stop spinning. The shadow Hermione cast over his bed became his own and then he was kneeling on the stone without a shackle in sight. He felt them, though. His father’s eyes bound his arms and his mother’s whispering stilled his legs. His body refused to bend under the gaze of so many strangers and yet he kneeled there, completely of his own free will. 

“It was old. My father didn’t know how to do it and he knows everything back to the ninth century at least. My mother had seen done once before, as a child. She never said it outright but I could tell that it had gone wrong—she was scared that the same thing would happen to me. He called in at least a dozen others to help.” Their eyes bore into his skin like harpie stings. They were standing all around him, enshrouded in black robes and watching him from behind shadowy masks. He was twelve, almost thirteen, and he was scared of them. 

“They covered their faces and they dressed the same but I knew a couple of their voices. Dark wizards that father had held late night meetings with once or twice. I was never supposed to see them.” Even now, Draco shuddered at the sound of their chanting. It felt like at least a thousand voices blending together and forcing themselves on his ear drums.

“Do you remember anything they said? Any of the chanting or any of the herbs?” Hermione was diligently taking notes and Draco tried to see that as a promising thing. She wasn’t listening for his sob story, she was listening for information. Not leverage, just information. 

“No, I don’t remember anything they said. It wasn’t English or Latin and I didn’t recognize the language from any of my schooling. There were mandrakes—I could hear their screaming, don’t ask me why it didn’t hurt me because I don’t know—and they were burning nightshade petals.” The smoke had smelled like airborne death. It had circled his throat until he was sure it was a noose, but had never touched him. After the second or third bout of chanting, he had started to wish that it would. 

“Do you remember anything else? Anything at all? I swear, Draco, I’m just trying to help Harry, not hurt you.” He remembered a lot of things: the pounding of his heart trying to beat out of his chest, the smell of burnt flesh, and choking on the taste of blood. He remembered the terror in his mother’s face before she’d been ushered back upstairs and he remembered how quick his father had been to grab him by his hair. That was the first time Lucius had ever gotten a taste of physically dominating him. 

“There was a snake.” Hermione scribbled that down, but he was barely paying attention to her now.

“Do you know what kind? Or remember any of the markings? Was it big?” He shook his head. His father hadn’t touched the bottle—what kind of snake lived or came in a bottle? No one had touched it except Aunt Bella. 

“It wasn’t a real snake, but it also wasn’t fake. I don’t know… It came in a glass bottle without any air holes and no one would touch it except Bellatrix, but even then she would only touch the bottle. It was small and black, like a living shadow.” He could still see its face through the glass, blinking at him with nothing but innocence. If his father had just explained the ritual… But no, he’d been left in the dark as usual and so he’d sat there face to face with the shadow snake for what felt like years. 

“They let it out, but not without a million barrier spells. There were runes on the floor and they told me to speak to it, so I did. It didn’t like the English. It bit me and Bella caught it again in the bottle.” It sounded so simple outloud, but he could still feel the excruciating burn of the poison as it slid through his veins. He could feel it now, if he thought about it too hard, and the bite mark-shaped scar on his throat began to throb. Harry had kissed that scar so many times… He had no idea what it was from.

“Do you remember any of the runes? Anything helps, honestly. Do you think the bite was poisonous or charmed somehow?”

“Poisoned,” Hermione had barely stopped speaking when he choked out the word. “It was poison. I don’t remember the runes.” She wrote that down, but he saw her quill hesitate over one of the words. For a second, she seemed to consider whether or not it was worth pushing the issue but she ultimately caved.

“Why are you so sure it was poison?” He couldn’t look at her, but he willed the ceiling to tell her how honest he was being. His nails dug even harder into his palm and he tried to take a deep breath, but it ended up being more of a sob. No, he wasn’t crying. Definitely not in front of Hermione, and definitely not without his lion or Minnie anywhere in sight. He had to do this, though, because he knew it could potentially save his lion.

“I’m sure because it’s the only thing that was ever worse than the Cruciatus curse.” His body shuddered involuntarily and even just saying the word felt like he was doing something unthinkable, but then a hand was covering his. Gently, Hermione uncurled his fingers and slid her hand in his, ignoring the blood. She squeezed, even though he refused to make eye contact. 

“I’m sorry. This is for Harry, just try to remember that. Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?” He swallowed hard and tried to repeat that mantra of  _ remember this is for Harry _ but it only went so far. Hermione’s hand was comforting, but he still hated to be touched and his mind was currently waging a war between the two urges. Not that he could have pulled away, even if he’d tried… 

When he was still quiet, Hermione let go of his hand and rolled up her parchment. She spelled the ink bottle closed and gathered her quills, casting him one last look before heading for the door. That was it, apparently. The second her back was to him, he sucked in a sharp breath and the words came pouring out.’

“Pain.” She stopped, but thankfully didn’t look at him.

“What?” Deep breaths. In, and out. He swallowed hard and jammed his nails back into the bloody arcs he’d carved into his palm. 

“Pain. I don’t know if it was for fun, or if it was part of the ritual but they had to cause pain. They used every hex and every jinx I’ve ever heard of. Every few minutes, they would stop and ask me if I would give myself over. If I said no, they would do it again. Over, and over again. I kept saying no and they kept hexing me but it wasn’t strong enough so my father… he used the Cruciatus curse. I’m not a lightweight when it comes to pain, I swear, and I’d handled the curse before. I could have done it again but—” He was crying now, and there was no pretending otherwise. Hermione kept her back to him, thank Merlin, but he could see her furiously writing on a piece of parchment. 

“But what?” Even she sounded choked, now, though he hardly took the time to stop and analyze that. The scar on his neck burned and spread over his skin like acid. 

“Combined with the poison, I just… I wanted it to stop so when they asked me again if I would give myself over, I said yes. And I meant it.” Hermione paused and he saw her shoulders rise and fall in a shaky little sigh but neither of them said anything. She kept writing, and he kept crying in the vague direction of the ceiling. When her quill finally came to stop, he fully expected her to just walk away. She did, but only to the door. 

“Here.” She handed the parchments to someone and walked back to him, clearly trying to hide the fact that tears were falling down her cheeks. Why, though? If there was anyone she could cry in front of and not look even the slightest bit pathetic with it was him. She took the chair beside his bed again, but this time she seemed dead set on eye contact.

“Can I hold your hand?” He gave a little jerk of his head and felt the warmth of her hand encase his again. It felt so distinctly  _ human _ that he almost flinched. 

“Can I heal these?” It was dark and neither of them were looking at his hands but he knew what she meant and he nodded again. He deliberately turned away and faced the other wall when she brought out her wand, but the warmth of the healing spell outweighed any panic that the wand had sparked. The blood disappeared, leaving them with nothing but skin to skin contact. 

“I know you don’t like to be touched and I can stop if you want but I thought it might help.” He just squeezed her hand a bit, though, and hoped that was communication enough. His voice was far too choked and far too unsteady to risk saying anything. Not that he had any pride to salvage at this point, though. 

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, Draco. We’re all working on this as hard as we can and we’re going to figure it out. Whatever’s going on, we’ll fix it, okay? He’ll be fine.” Draco nodded, but didn’t bother trying to argue with her. If she needed the optimism and the reassurance, who was he to take it from her?

“He’s the Boy Who Lived, for Christ’s sake! He’ll be fine. He has to be fine, right?” That time, it was less sure. Hermione’s voice wavered and he had no idea who Christ was but he had a feeling that it wasn’t a good thing. He squeezed her hand. 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Draco wasn’t stupid enough to believe that, of course, because most of his life, at this point, seemed to be a cycle of both causing and then protecting Harry from imminent death but he wasn’t heartless enough to say that. True, he and Hermione weren’t best friends but she’d been kind to him when she hadn’t needed to be more than once. He could return that favor. 

Besides, she was the first person aside from Harry or Minnie whose touch didn’t seem to burn him. Maybe they were on the path to becoming friends? It wasn’t like he had any anymore, really, and if his lion trusted her then he could probably trust her too, right?

“Thank you, Hermione.” She squeezed his hand and he felt her smile, even if it was tearful. 

“That’s what friends are for,  _ little dragon _ .” 


	15. Chapter 15

"Mr. Malfoy," The voice—hard, and male, and much too loud in such a small space—forced him to look up. "So glad you're with us once again. Gave us all a bit of a scare there, for a while. My name is Pierre Sinnett and I'm here as a representative of our Ministry's legal team to stand in the place of your guardian during questioning." The man looked like a shrub that someone had tried to trim in all the wrong places. Draco merely stared at him. His face was flat, his limbs were disproportionate, and his clothes did not make him look like he lived on a lawyer's salary.

"Where's Minnie?" Pierre scrunched his face into a sympathetic smile, as if he were addressing a child who hadn't gotten their way, and mumbled something about legal integrity. Though he didn't seem like a particularly helpful man, he didn't seem all that bad so Draco let his attention shift to the other two people in the room. They stood behind his hospital bed, just out of his line of sight, and he had no doubt that that was intentional. He could feel their presence, though. One breathed far too loudly, and the other felt… familiar?

"Mr. Malfoy," The mouth breather finally began, stepping into view. "My name is Mr. Prew, and this is my associate Miss Le'Galle. It's a pleasure to meet you." Draco narrowed his eyes a bit, sizing up every detail he could find from the cat hair on the man's suit to his peculiarly small feet.

"Well, Prew, I'd shake your hand but as you can see I'm a little preoccupied at the moment." He tried not to sound bitter—honestly—as he clanked the metal on his cuffs because neither Prew nor his associate had said what their jobs were and he had no idea if they were to blame for the restraints. But, Pierre at least seemed to be on his side, in theory, and he had to blame someone so his words came out harsher than necessary.

"Ah, yes. My apologies for what I'm sure seems excessive. You've proven to be quite dangerous under the right circumstances, though, and, at the very least, we can't have you running off or trying to hurt yourself again, now can we?" Again? If Prew was referring to the thick cast currently encasing his left hand, Draco was going to start hexing everyone he could reach—wand or no wand. Did they really think that he'd hurt himself on purpose? Or to get some kind of special treatment?

"Miss Le'Galle, if you would give our dear stand-in guardian a copy of the consent waiver forms?"

"I didn't waive any—" But Draco stopped the second Miss Le'Galle stepped into his line of sight. He knew, instantly, why her presence had felt so familiar and why the air around her seemed to chill. She was one of the Dark witches his father had met with leading up to the ritual.

"Actually, Mr. Malfoy, you did. By committing an Unforgivable crime, you waived your right to legal representation, your right to refuse Veritaserum, your right to a trial, and quite a few others. I'm sure someone will gladly read the paperwork to you but, for the moment, we're on a bit of a tight schedule." That was utter bullshit and even Pierre seemed to think so, crossing his little stick arms in front of him like some kind of paper doll. He said nothing, though, and Draco was too distracted by Le'Galle.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione had said he was okay, and Draco desperately tried to trust that, but he couldn't help asking. The question just slipped out like some kind of confession.

"That's none of your concern at the moment, unfortunately, but we'd like to begin the questioning if you don't mind." Draco did mind—very much, actually—but he didn't want to test their patience just yet so he stayed quiet. Was this even legal?

* * *

"Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?" He hadn't even opened his eyes or stopped to process the killer headache that was pounding inside his skull but he knew that voice.

"Draco."

"That's not a feeling, Mr. Potter." He ignored Pomfrey and her tutting, though, instead choosing to focus his energy on Hermione who had taken a seat beside his bed. She didn't look happy, but she at least hadn't been crying so nothing could have gone too horribly wrong, right?

"Where is he?" Hermione winced and took his hand. "'Mione, I'm not going to ask again." He shouldn't have made his voice so harsh and he knew he shouldn't be taking his anxiety out on her, but he didn't trust anyone else enough at the moment to risk showing a vulnerability.

"He's okay—detained, but at least getting medical attention as far as I know. It isn't good though. I talked to him before you woke up and got some information for McGonagall but she had to pull some strings to sneak me in so we're both banned now. We have a couple theories I can't tell you about yet, but…"

"But what." Harry was not in the mood to read between the lines and his head throbbed with every beat of his heart. Hermione looked like she wanted to run.

"The Ministry is building a case against him. They've got a lot of really powerful people combing through every scrap of information they can get and I don't think it's hopeless for us but, it definitely isn't good." Fantastic. He wasn't thinking clearly enough to really process what that meant for them, but he knew that this wasn't part of the plan. This was _so_ not what they'd wanted to have happen.

"Why just him?" Hermione gave him a look. "I mean, why are they just going after him? Why not both of us?"

"Because you're Harry Potter." They both looked up, shocked that Pomfrey had spoken let alone sounded so bitter. Through this entire order, she had remained as impartial as possible and focused on healing them whenever necessary, but now she had an opinion?

"What's that got to do with anything?" Harry couldn't really fault the woman for being so dedicated to her job and he admired it, in a weird sort of way, but that didn't ease the sting of this conversation right now.

"Oh come on, Harry, don't be daft. You know exactly what it's got to do with this. The Ministry would be insane to try to go after you, especially for the murder of a Death Eater, and they know it. Already, people are praising your name for ridding the Wizarding World of such a tyrant. But Draco, he's…"

"He's what, 'Mione?" She just looked to the floor because they both knew what she was going to say. He was a junior Death Eater, he was the son who'd killed his father, he was the Slytherin who'd tormented Harry in the public eye for years, and he was widely hated because of his father's reputation. No one would bat an eye if he was convicted or, God forbid, executed.

"That shouldn't matter." It did, though, because the Ministry could destroy Draco without even breaking a sweat. It wouldn't matter that he was the victim, no one would care about the abuse or trauma because he was a Malfoy. Harry clenched his hands into fists at his side, but decided to change the subject.

"There was raspberry in the oatmeal, wasn't there?" Hermione frowned.

"I can't answer that." She didn't have to, though, because he'd known her for years and he could read her like a book. So someone had tried to poison him after all… He'd been hearing rumors of anaphylactic agents being added in as well, which made sense given that his usual reaction to raspberries was breaking out in hives, not losing the ability to breathe. Who would even have access to that kind of ingredient, though?

"Did you ask Snape about the anaphylactic stimulant?" Again, Hermione frowned but Harry didn't bother reading that one. She knew that he suspected Snape, and she was not prepared to make such a heavy allegation against such a powerful man without evidence. Still, even if he hadn't done it himself, he might know who would have had the opportunity to.

"No, I'm not allowed to talk to anyone about the case and he's still completely enraged from the scene in the Great Hall. He's grieving. People are saying that Lucius was his best friend and since he's Draco's godfather, that maybe he's next…"

"That's ridiculous and you know it!" Pomfrey coughed in their direction, and Harry reluctantly lowered his voice. "If Snape's upset, it's because he lost Lucius's power, not the man himself. He is Draco's godfather but a lot of good that's done anyone. Hell, he's probably saying I staged the whole thing to get us moved back up here to the hospital wing or something." Harry expected Hermione to berate him, or at least give him a disapproving look for talking about a professor that way, but she just grimaced.

"Actually…" No. There was no possible way, right? Was he actually spreading lies like that to the rest of the school, to the _Ministry_?

"He better fucking—"

"Language, Mr. Potter." Grumbling, Harry scowled across the room at the mediwitch and turned back to Hermione, determined to swear quieter. She beat him to it, though.

"Actually, he's saying that Draco orchestrated the whole thing to get himself moved to a less secure facility, what with destroying his hand and all. You were just collateral damage." Harry wanted to scream and curse and hex everything within a twenty foot radius of him. As if Draco would ever knowingly hurt him! If poisoning him benefited anyone, actually, it was Snape and all the rest of Voldemort's minions, which only further cemented the idea that Snape was somehow guilty.

_You were just collateral damage._ Like hell he was! From what he'd been told and what he could gather from snippets of outside conversations, the raspberry had been a targeted hit. The elfs that worked in the Kitchens were probably all being detained and questioned, but why? As far as Harry was concerned, he knew exactly who had orchestrated the attempt on his life. If anyone was going to be collateral damage, it was that slimey excuse for a godfather and anyone else who dared stand between him and his little dragon.

* * *

"Try again, Mr. Malfoy." Prew, in all his mouth breathing glory, looked as tired and bored of this as Draco felt. Four over three hours, now, they'd sat here questioning him. His supposed 'guardian' hadn't said a word in his defense or stopped any of the questions, which only showed that he'd been handpicked for the job by the wrong side, and Draco had grudgingly acted as his own defense.

"I've told you at least a hundred times now, Archibald, I didn't poison Harry or his food." Prew glowered at him. Having failed to introduce himself using his first name, Draco had resorted to pettily calling him by more and more ridiculous names just to even out the power imbalance between them. 'Mr. Prew' was too formal, too respectful, but names like Herbert and Mortimer? The perfect degree of childish petulance.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'll remind you again that you are under oath." Draco snorted, drawing the attention of absolutely no one, because the oath meant nothing. It was a plea of honesty and allegiance to the ways of the Ministry—one that he had recited with mindless grace since the age of four—and it was as legally binding as a pinky promise. They kept pushing it, though.

"And I'll remind _you_ again, Bartholomew, that I've answered this question multiple times and don't plan to change my answer anytime soon. I didn't poison anyone, and I didn't orchestrate any kind of plot to poison anyone through a third party either. I was incarcerated, same as Harry, and spoke to no one but the guards. You should ask them about it. I've heard witnesses can really be key in this sort of thing, you know?"

Prew glared at him and Pierre whatever-his-name-was just continued scribbling on his page. Draco could see the outline of what looked like a naked woman on it. Fantastic. He turned his attention to Miss Le'Galle, the witch he knew from his father's study and from the basement during the ritual, and wasn't shocked to see her dutifully staring back at him. She was incredibly patient, though he'd expected nothing less. Beside her, an enchanted pen was writing as she thought to it, taking notes via what seemed to be an incredibly complicated linking spell.

"See something you like, Mr. Malfoy?" Prew's snide voice made his skin bristle, but he didn't look away from the witch. She was so calm and collected compared to the man beside her who turned a different shade of red with every ridiculous name Draco called him. Were they both Dark? Or was Prew just as ignorant as Miss Le'Galle was devious?

"Yes, actually, the exit. Any chance you'll be utilizing that soon?" Pierre covered a laugh by coughing dramatically into his handkerchief and Miss Le'Galle looked properly amused for a split second, but Prew merely turned a darker shade of red.

"This is not a joke, Mr. Malfoy—"

"I'm well aware of that, Howard, which is why I find your complete disregard for legal procedures and investigational integrity appalling. I've answered your questions, and asking them each twenty times will not get you twenty different answers, even if you don't like what I've said. You've got your information, and I've got healing potions to take. However, I'm the one strapped to a hospital bed and you're the one in the chair so, as much as I would love to stand up and walk out that door, I'm afraid the ball is in your court."

Prew huffed, but seemed to ultimately decide that he'd dealt with enough childish behavior for one day. He stood, and beckoned Miss Le'Galle after him like some kind of secretary. She followed, looking bored. Pierre remained and was shuffling through paperwork like he was preparing himself to read it aloud, but Draco gagged at the thought of spending another second in the company of strange lawyers.

"I'll get a nurse to hold the pages for me, you can go." He hadn't really meant to sound so harsh but it was a consequence of his dwindling patience so he didn't exactly regret it either. Pierre stiffened, but then eyed the door and nodded. In less than a minute, all trace of the three intruders was gone, aside from the abnormal arrangement of chairs near his bed. Maybe if he kicked hard enough he could knock one over in protest?

It was a nice thought, but Pomfrey was already on edge with so many people disrupting her hospital wing and she'd done so much for them that Draco felt bad aggravating her any further. Even if he was moody and wanted to hit something, he wouldn't take it out on her.

"It's time for your potions, Mr. Malfoy." He nodded and didn't even make a face when they tasted like vomit. His presence was already a burden, given that Pomfrey had to personally tend to him and Harry and couldn't let anyone else pick up the slack—as a precaution given the raspberry incident. She hadn't seemed bitter, but Draco could guess that she wasn't thrilled about the change.

"See you in four hours, Pomfrey." The mediwitch nodded, not at all put off by the last name, and disappeared through that precious exit door. Draco closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep until his next round of potions was due, but his mind swirled around images of Miss Le'Galle and he imagined his trio of legal harassers moving onto Harry next. The idea of her being in the same room as his lion made his stomach churn.

He shook his head, trying not to work himself up only to be reminded of the restraints on his limbs. Four hours… As long as he just kept breathing and took it four hours at a time, he could get this through this. Nevermind the fact that being away from Harry and unable to communicate, even in Parseltongue, forced panic through his veins and nevermind the fact that everyone around him aside from Pomfrey seemed to want him dead. Just four hours at a time, and he would be okay.

He had to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Reviews mean the world to me and constructive criticism is welcome just please no flames!


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